


The Story Teller

by B_does_the_write_thing



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Based off 1001 Nights, Dark Character, F/M, retelling of Ouat
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-11-21
Updated: 2017-09-21
Packaged: 2018-02-26 13:11:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 25
Words: 92,253
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2653220
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/B_does_the_write_thing/pseuds/B_does_the_write_thing
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Long ago, the Dark One made a deal to protect the Middle Kingdom from Ogres in exchange for a bride. However, each year, the bride has been returned as a corpse and another taken away. When Lady Belle is sacrificed to save her kingdom, she finds her love of stories may just keep her alive. </p><p>-Nominated for Best AU in the 2015 T.E.A's-<br/>-Nominated for Best AU in the 2016 T.E.A's-<br/>- Nominated for Best AU in the 2017 T.E.A's-<br/>-Winner of Best Dark One in the 2017 T.E.A.'s-</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Nan's Tale

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The overall mood of this story was inspired by this gif set by Essentialasair: http://b-does-the-write-thing.tumblr.com/post/110270541007/essentialasair-an-alternate-take-of-skin-deep
> 
> And of course- One Thousand and One Nights.

_Far and Away was a simple town of simple people. There was the Farmer and the Blacksmith and the Merchant and the Miller, and though the Dairy Maid was no longer a maid, they still called her that because that’s what she had once been._

_Here, there lived a simple Spinner who had a home and a wife as men often do. He lived happily in this anonymity. The pair lived at the end of the lane in a small cottage where the town ended and the woods began._ _Life was peaceful. Quiet. Comfortable._

_Then, the War came._

_The Ogres didn’t come like thunder. They came like the tide._ _Slowly, market days became less crowded. The traveling tradesman stopped coming to town. The few that did brought news about monsters roaming the land, devouring all they came across._

_Occasional survivors wandered into the village. One armed men gasping for water. Women carried bags of bones begging food for their dead children.  The insane and dying ended up in the square, all screaming about the end. The end that was coming for them all._

_The town people turned away. The Spinner’s Wife stood at the well, mouth ajar in horrified disgust as her husband tried to hurry her away from the scene. The Midwife and the old Doctor were left to try and care for the strangers. Few survived. The horror was too great._

_After a month of death, soldiers started riding into town. Purporting to be heralds of The Dark One, a powerful sorcerer, they promised the town of Far and Away safety from the faceless danger that was ravaging the land._ _The town’s mind was still full of the ravings and screaming of those who had fled the Ogres- the blood stains on the square’s stones were still wet when the vote was cast._

_Far and Away would bend knee to the Dark One for protection. He would keep their sleepy village safe from the destruction of the leviathans, b_ _ut all magic comes with a price._

_This was the first lesson Far and Away learned from their new master. Yes, their salvation was achieved but only at the cost of ten souls a year._ _The first Reaping was almost celebratory. Every male in town lined up, dressed in their best clothes. The Spinner wore the shirt in which he had been married. He shined his shoes until he could see his face in them. It was a plain face, starting to line and age but still bright with content._

_This pride was not to last. The Dark One arrived in the town square in a burst of black smoke. It billowed out like greedy hands grasping for their throats. A few backed away from the tendrils, one or two young boys ran to join the women and children a few yards back. The silence was deafening._ _By the end of the hour, ten men were gone. Four left widows, two left their mothers skirts and four left limping on their canes._

_None of them ever returned._

_So, it went for the next ten years. Every spring, the entire village came to the square but it was no longer a joyous occasion. The village was thinning out. Women outnumbered the men ten to one now. Some had left with traveling merchants to go to the nearest city, the port town of Cape, to find a town where the Ogre War did not hang heavy but most had been reaped._

_This year, the Spinner stood in his pair of ratty trousers, trim barely visible under the layers of dirt and grime. His burlap vest was itching his neck and his hair was long and uncut, curling about his neck in the spring humidity._ _He was not surprised when the Dark One stopped before him and reached out with one black scaly claw to mark his forehead with his touch._ _He was not surprised to hear his wife crying to sleep in her blankets as he stared into the fire a_ _nd he was not surprised when he marched away to his death._

_The Spinner was, however, surprised when he found himself staring up into the gaping maw of an Ogre, blood trickling from the Ogre’s latest kill onto his upturned face like rain- that he very much wanted to live._ _He wanted to return to his cottage. He wanted to spin. He wanted to slide into his wife and place life inside her. He wanted to see tomorrow._

_And so, he ran._

_The Spinner ran and ran until he found himself at home, pounding on his door in the rain until his wife opened it._ _He should not have been surprised when the town railed him as a coward and a worm. He should not have been surprised when his wife left for the Cape even though he begged and pleaded for her to stay._ _And so he was not surprised when the Dark One’s soldiers rode into town looking for the deserter. He was leaning against the well in the square waiting for them, bruises and cuts lining his face and arms, his leg broken in two places from the Blacksmith’s hammer._

_So, the Spinner disappeared into the Dark One’s castle, and the town of Far and Away breathed easier knowing the tenth soul would be reaped and they would be spared._  
  
_Until the next year’s reaping brought it’s own surprise._

_For it was the Spinner, dark and terrible in leather and scales who threw the hood back from his twisted face, revealing himself to be the new Dark One. It was the Spinner laughing in a high-pitched giggle as he claimed the ten souls- slaughtering them where they stood._

_Then he claimed ten more._

_And ten more._

_And ten more again._

_Until the town of Far and Away was just a memory._

_And the Dark One ruled the entire Northern Kingdom- the only Kingdom free of Ogres._

_For it was the only Kingdom empty of any living soul save his own.  
_  

Belle did not bother to look up from the book she was translating. “Nan, don’t be so morbid,” she admonished.  “Why do you insist on telling that story to the children when they’re frightened enough?”

The old crone looked up from the circle of children surrounding her. Her lined face was indignant as she glared over their heads at the lady of the land. “It’s not a story. It’s the truth!”

“Honestly, Nan,” Belle sighed, sparing a warm but exasperated look to her old governess. “It’s just a fairy tale designed to keep little ones from the Northern border.”

“It’s a warning!” Nan protested with a shake of her iron gray curls. “And a good one at that! Ain’t none of these doves going to go flying off into that dangerous place after hearing that legend!" 

The six young ones glanced up at Belle shyly, obviously still scared silly from the croaking growl of Nan’s voice. Snapping her book shut, Belle leaned over in her seat to smile reassuringly at them. “Now, now,” she murmured as she brushed a tear from the smallest one’s cheek. “You mustn’t believe the Dark One is any danger to you here. You all are very smart and brave and you know the rules.” Belle turned her gaze to the oldest who was sitting at the edge of the group, and nodded for him to speak. 

He had twisted his jacket into knots in his lap. His knuckles were white against the blue fabric. “Don’t go past the Northern field,” the young boy answered in rote. 

“Why is that?” Belle asked, encouraging him to continue.

The boy licked his lips as he avoided her eye. “Because… cause…” 

“Cause else the Ogres will get us!” piped up one young girl in front.

Belle tugged one of the girl's blonde pigtail in approval. The child giggled, an infectious noise that soon swept the entire circle. “That’s right!” Belle agreed. “Our walls have protected us for two centuries from the Ogres and they will continue to do so. We just have to have hope.”

“Hope?” snorted Nan. “Fat good that will do us when the Ogres break down the gates to grind our bones to make their bread.”

“Nan!” 

“Tis true, pet,” the old woman sighed. She stood, shaking slightly as she placed her hand on her aching hip. “The gates may have held but after years of erosion, they are weak and those monsters know it.”

Belle pursed her lips together but Nan was already limping away. Belle did not go after her or dare rebuke her further. The old woman was growing more and more difficult these days. Nan had lost her three sons to the war and now her only grandson was presumed dead. His mother, Nan’s youngest daughter, had thrown herself from the tower walls in her grief, leaving Nan alone in the world.

“Lady Belle?”

Broken from her reprieve, Belle glanced down at the young girl in pigtails who was standing timidly before her. “I’m sorry, yes dear?”

“Lady Belle, is that the end of the story?”

“Oh,” Belle murmured as a finger ran along the edge of the book’s spine in her lap. “Yes, that’s all for today, children. Now, you best be getting to your rooms before it gets dark. Run along, I’ll see you all tomorrow.”

The young ones clambered to their feet in an ungraceful eddy of limbs and chatter, disappearing down the rows of books in the library. Their footsteps and voices echoed before fading along the castle’s walls. Belle stood, smoothing the wrinkles from her day dress.  

“How you going to lie to those precious lambs like that?” Nan rebuked her with a shake of her head. “Some of them are old enough to know better. None of them have parents because of the Deal.“

Belle placed a hand on her forehead to stem the growing ache. “Enough, Nan,” she said. “The Deal and that fairy tale are two completely different things.”

Nan crossed her arms in front of her chest. “Oh?” she said. “Then why has the Middle Kingdom withered away these past hundred years? Why are there only six children in the whole of the land?”

“Nan,” Belle said, a tinge of steel lending warning to her tone.  “Enough. Is my father still in court?”

“He’s with his advisers,” Nan stated with an angry sniff. “And I’ll be telling those lambs about our own deal with evil tomorrow morning, whether you like or not, my Lady. The poor things deserve to know why they’re all orphans.”

“They’re too young,” Belle replied firmly. "They won’t understand.“

Nan waved away her pleas. “What’s to understand? Your Great Great Grandfather made a deal with The Dark One for gates to last two hundred years. Everyone knows magic comes with a price.”

“But they’re children,” Belle repeated as her cheeks began to heat. “They won’t-“ 

“They won’t understand why that Beast demanded a bride in return for this protection?”

Belle nodded, biting her lip in frustration at her own embarrassment. Honestly, she read. She knew the kind of things a husband and wife did in the dark of their chambers. She had been present in birthing chambers since she was eleven. She had also walked the halls of the sick room, seen men die in agony or slip away in unconsciousness never to wake again. Still, she could not meet Nan’s eye.

“Can you imagine the dismay they felt the day they offered the first woman to the Beast?”

Belle shook her head no, feeling the familiar nausea at the Deal.

“Or the horror when dawn came exactly one year later and her dead body was lying in front of the gates with him sitting bold as you please on the gate tower, cackling like a insane man as he ordered them to find him a new bride?”

“The Deal was struck,” Belle stated firmly as she clutched the book to her chest. “Our lands have been safe from the destruction of the Ogres for near two hundred years.”

“At what cost? How many have died?” Nan raised her voice, the low growl nearly a shout. “Two of my girls gone, returned to me as pale corpses dressed in silk. What he did to them-!“

“He’s a monster,” Belle jumped in before Nan hurt herself. The old woman's face was red and her hands shook at her sides as if unable to contain her grief, her anger, her pain for a moment longer. “I don’t deny it but until the Wall falls or a Bride survives... it’s the only way to keep people alive. Every woman who signs up for the Deal knows that. Besides, her family eats well for the year in payment of her sacrifice.” Nan opened her mouth to argue but Belle cut her off, “Every boy who goes to War knows he might be the one who ends the Ogre War, who saves his sister from the Beast. I would sign my name if my father would allow it. I would have signed it the day I turned eighteen.”

Nan’s anger faded at this, leaving her deflated and grey. “Aye, Lady, I know. You’re a good woman and you’ll make a fine wife to Sir Gaston.”

“I don’t want to be a wife." Belle gathered her skirts and walked past Nan towards the exit of the library. “I want to be the one who finds an end to all this madness.” 

Belle had no idea fate heard her...nor what it held in store for her. Escaping this discussion, she opted to head towards her father's private study instead of her own rooms. The sun set to the east, casting shadows over the halls and trailing in her wake as she headed to the west side of the castle. Nan was not wrong, per say, but neither was she correct in her pessimism. The old woman was who Belle often went to in times of trouble or doubt but now...now she only wanted her father's ear, to see him smile and to hear him reassure her that all would be well, even if it was a lie. 

When she arrived at his doors, they were closed with two guards standing at attention outside. "Council's inside, my lady," one said with a perfunctory nod.

Belle huffed at this wrinkle. A meeting of the council was never a good sign, and it was a recurring sore point with her that she was often excluded from them on pretext of her being "too busy" for such tedious discussions. "My father is expecting me," she lied brazenly. "I was delayed in the library."

The two guard's eyes flickered over her head which only infuriated her further. "Move aside, Jasper," she said curtly to the shorter guard, "or I'll make sure you have the twilight shift on the towers for the next season."

Jasper paled as his partner's mouth twitched in amusement. It was no secret Jasper had a paralyzing fear of heights, one of the reasons he was in the royal guard corp instead of the battlefield.  It was petty of her to use against him but her hackles were up. Belle tiled her head and Jasper, recognizing her seriousness, moved quickly aside. She thrust her head up as they pulled open the doors and strode forward every inch a lady of the court. "Father!" she announced, her voice ringing in the high vaulted rafters. "I wasn't informed the council was called."

Lord Maurice stood in the center of the room and at her voice, he swung around as if an arrow had struck him. His face was haggard and bloodless and Belle stumbled to a stop at the despair on his features and at the pain in his eyes.

Belle reached out for his hands only to find them lifeless at his sides. He stared down at her as if she was a ghost. "Papa, what is it? What's wrong?"

“Ooooooh,” giggled a voice from just behind her father. “Who is this now?”

The voice was high pitched and grating as if someone was dragging iron over cobblestone. Around them, the council members stayed still and silent as shadows. Their eyes were not on her or her father but on whomever or whatever stood beyond her sight. Her heart began to quicken as fear slowly began to creep into her veins.  Belle shifted to look around her father's form but he held her in place as if awakening from a nightmare to seize upon the closest thing to tether him to reality. He had bags under his eyes, puffy and swollen from nights of not sleeping. He was a broken man.

 

“I’m growing bored,” the voice interrupted. “You called me here to help save your precious kingdom and end up ignoring me. How inconsiderate.”

“Belle.” Lord Maurice's voice broke. “I love you, my darling girl. I love you so much." 

Before Belle could say another word, he thrust her out before him as if he could not stand to look at her a moment more. As she fell to her knees, her hands barely caught her from smacking her head into the tiles. Pain flared in her knees and palms but she did not cry out. There was utter silence in the room except her heartbeat in her own ears. A sinking sensation in the pit of her stomach made her woozy. She glanced warily up more out of fear than curiosity but she already knew what she was kneeling prostate before.

Two tall riding boots, black with inky purple laces traced up two calves. Leather breeches, fitted tightly to a pair of lean thighs and tight hips where a black brocade jacket dipped down before ending in two sharp points along the back of the thighs. A jerkin vest was pulled taunt over a wiry chest, and a scaled clawed hand rested thoughtfully on one hip. The other curled in the air by the face of the Dark One. 

Belle swallowed as she met those dark black eyes. They were mirrors which glowed yellow in the lights of the candelabra hanging from the rafters. His face was pointed and sharp like the edges of an axe. His yellow rotted smile was oozing hatred like an open wound.

Belle tried to crawl backwards but her day gown caught between her thighs. She ended up sitting back on her elbows, eyes glazed over in fear as she stared up into the eyes of a predator. Her muscles locked up and her voice caught in her throat. Terror urged her to flee, to scream, to fight but her body refused to listen. 

“Ah, so this is the brave daughter you were telling me so much about,” the Dark One laughed. “Yet, she cries and shakes just like the lowest peasant girls. How telling.”

“Enough,” Lord Maurice snapped. “Do we have a deal?”

“Another hundred years the wall will stand,” the Dark One replied in a sing song voice. His eyes lifted from her upturned face and as if a spell had been lifted, Belle slowly found her feet though she swayed uneasily where she stood. She did not look away from the creature, she couldn’t, not even if she tried.  The panic of the thousand women before her grew in the pit of her stomach.

The Dark One returned his gaze to her with a sniff of disdain. “I think she’s about to be sick. I hate the ones that get sick.” Belle swallowed the bile in her throat. The hot burning made her dry heave despite herself. The Dark One cocked an eyebrow at her in disgust before turning to someone behind her. “Yes, I suppose we have a deal. I take the Lady Belle as my Bride. In return for this noble act, the walls will stand for another hundred years.”

“She is to be the last.“

The Dark One twitched  a finger at the gathered men. All the heads of state stood in the shadows like scared children. Others were dead men in the green light of the rising moon. “Hmph,” he grunted. “That’s not part of the deal. The original Deal states that until you find me a suitable bride. I’ll continue returning those that don’t please me. I just require a higher initial payment as it were on this particular agreement....to make sure you know what you are agreeing to.”

There were mutterings from the councilors but Lord Maurice raised his hand to still them. “My ancestor did not have a daughter to give so he sacrificed the women of his land with a heavy heart. However, he did not understand their grief. Now, you ask me for my only daughter, knowing it is her life you are truly asking for...and perhaps I will be thought of as stronger than my ancestor. For I will know every parent’s pain as their daughter walks out those gates and into your embrace. We all will know the price we paid for the safety of the land was bought by our daughters.”

“Are you done?” the Dark One drawled, his brow raised in consternation. “Why, you’re even more long-winded than the last one."

Every daydream Belle had ever had of offering herself as one of the Brides was nothing compared to this moment. She had dreamed she would be strong, proud, every inch the Lady of the Middle Kingdom and instead she wanted to scream, run, beg the men she had grown up with to save her. Even her betrothed, Sir Gaston, stood by the door. His sword hand was on his hilt but he did not look at her. His eyes were focused on Lord Maurice.

“Please,” Belle said as she turned to her father. “Papa…I don’t want to die!" She gripped his arms with her hands. His fingers grasped her gloved elbows with a tight squeeze in response. For a moment, she thought he was going to change his mind.

“Take her and be damned.” Lord Maurice closed his eyes as the Dark One sprung forward with a cackle. He grabbed Belle around the waist and pulled her tight. He smiled around the room with a wicked leer. Her father turned his back, and Belle hated him for a moment. Hated him for not having the strength to watch the end of his bargain.

The Dark One snapped his fingers. “Come now, dearie,” he crowed.  “We have only a few hours left till midnight.”

As the dark swirls of smoke surrounded her, everything Belle ever knew disappeared from her sight.

She was horrified to find she cried.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Um. I didn’t mean to?


	2. The Deal

_Time passed, as it is wont to do._

_To the south of the barren Northern lands, there lay a land of prosperity and joy. Th_ __is was the Middle Kingdom and it_ was ruled over by a wise and beloved King and his son, a noble and handsome Prince. Their lands were fertile and the river land’s forest teemed with life. From the poorest peasant to the King himself, the people of the Middle Kingdom wanted for nothing._

_Happiness was abundant. The people had hope in their hearts and no fear of the darkness. They lived in blissful ignorance of the evils that lingered to the north of their home b_ _ut they could not stop the end from coming no more than they could stem the tide._

_So, one fateful morning, as the handsome Prince rode along the main road, he noticed the smoke._ _A once flourishing village lay burned and razed to the ground. Bones scattered in the ashes, buildings torn down to their foundations and massive footprints dug deep into the ground. There were no survivors._

_The Ogres had arrived in the Middle Kingdom._

_Within weeks, the land was dying. Villagers fled to the great castle stronghold at the capital of the Kingdom for sanctuary. Braver souls fled to the Southern Isles where they hoped to be save from the destruction. All the while, he King grew old and sick with fear as he saw his people suffer._

_It was then, in their darkest hour, that the old woman appeared. Grizzled and bent, she hobbled forward into the King’s Halls to whisper the tales from her girlhood in the North._ _She spoke of a powerful sorcerer who lived there. Their salvation if they were willing to pay the price._ _The Prince scoffed at her. He ordered her to be taken away and thrown into the dungeons for her dangerous words, but the King stilled his guards. His heart was ever darkening with the horror of the dead. He ordered the woman to speak the name of their would be savior._

_Thus, she whispered the Dark One’s name into the King’s ears and fell down dead at his feet._

_The story of the Dark One, the potential savior, spread. The people cried for their King to let him save them. The Prince railed against their fears, begging his father to ride into battle against the Ogres instead of playing with magic he could not control b_ _ut the King was too paralyzed from fear. He could do nothing but stare out the window at the dying land, as more and more of his people rode to his castle as fires burned in the distance._

_The noble Prince could not stand his people’s pain or his father’s weakness. One fair morning, he kissed his wife and young son goodbye. Then, he rode out of the castle gates with a massive host behind him of knights and noblemen all dressed in splendid armor with banners flying behind them._ _The King could only watch as his only son rode off to battle._

_A week later, a lone horse amble to the gates of the stronghold. The rider lay half dead on his back- one arm torn clean off and legs shattered beneath him. The knight raved and screamed for a week as he lay dying. The only words anyone could understand though were simple._ _'Dead. They’re all dead.'_

_That is when the King went to the highest room in the tallest tower and said the name of the Dark One three times into the wind._

_And so the Deal was struck._

_The next morning, the people of the Middle Kingdom awoke to find a large stonewall encircling the lands. All ogres had vanished from the Kingdom but they could see their fires burning on the horizon past the walls._ _The people rejoiced, praising the Dark One for their salvation, b_ _ut all magic comes with a price._

_This was the last lesson the people of the Middle Kingdom learned from the First Ogre War._

_Life went on b_ ut _the Ogres had infected the land with their evil. The land withered and the rains no longer came. The once large and diverse Kingdom was now a castle stronghold with a few outlying villages. A_ _t first in their relief, no one noticed the disappearance of the King’s most trusted adviser's only daughter. Not until a year later when her body was found laying at the castle gate dressed in stained silks._

 _Trumpets blared and the few men left behind in the castle guard rushed to the gate only to find the Dark One himself- dark and terrible- watching all the commotion._ _The King came to his balcony to see what he had reaped. And when he saw the dead girl with her dreadful husband laughing over her dead body, he knew his son had been right._ _From that day on, the entire kingdom knew what their safety had been bought with. Young women were asked to volunteer. A few did. And every year, another body was returned to the King’s door._ _Soon, there were no more volunteers. On the yearly date, a woman was chosen at random by the people and carried to her doom._

_Sometimes it was a young woman, beautiful and fair. Other times it was an old hag, hated and despised. Mothers, daughters, crones. All were sacrificed to the Dark One’s whim. And every year, a body was returned._

_No one was safe._

_The King died a broken man. His people appointed him The Dealer King and spat at his name for people are fickle things. They had already forgotten their pleas to be saved, content to hate their savior and protector instead of the threat looming over the wall._

_When the Dealer King died, his young grandson took the throne. His first act as king was to demand an end to the sacrificial witch-hunts. All women who wished to volunteer themselves could sign their names after their eighteen birthdays. Their entire family would eat well for the year for their sacrifice._ _He also vowed to honor the memory of his noble father who had warned the kingdom of the dangers of trusting magic to save them. The Boy King began the Second Ogre War- creating an army of volunteers to ride out the gates when the year’s Bride disappeared to wage war against the true enemy. With_   _the cunning Boy King at the helm, the host did great battle with the Ogres, pushing them back slightly and learning the things could indeed be killed. For every Ogre that fell, ten men did as well._

_So, the Middle Kingdom withered and shrank as two hundred years slowly passed._

_The walls grow weak and_ _the Ogres are waiting._

 

“Oh, do stop sniveling. You’re getting the floor wet.”

Wiping her tears from her cheeks, Belle turned away. Her breath came in jerking heaves as the tears fell but she couldn’t let him see. He moved about behind her, the odd rustling of his leathers the only sound he seemed to make. She strained to listen, eyes fixed ahead as she tried and failed to stem her sobs.

They had arrived via a cloud of smoke into a room of stone. The floor was grey slabs smoothed under her feet and the walls were jagged and rugged almost as if the room had been hewn out of solid rock. There were no tapestries or windows in her current view but she didn’t dare turn around.

“Tick, tock. The night is getting on, dearie.”

“Don’t-don't call me that," Belle strained to say but her voice was no louder than a whisper.

"Did you say something, dearie? Didn’t quite catch that.”

Seizing whatever strength there was in her fear, Belle's neck straightened as her head tilted back. She turned slowly about though she could not force herself to look directly upon him. Her tears slowed as she found her voice.  “I said don’t call me that.”

He raised his hands in a derisive shrug, wiggling them like worms. “Whatever am I to call you then?”

“My name is Lady Belle French of the Middle Kingdom, daughter of Lord Maurice, Stewart of the Throne.“

He squinted his face in thought. “It’s a bit of a mouthful.”

Her resolve was fading, leaving her exhausted and shaking. “Belle, then,” she acquiesced. 

“Belle,” he said, tasting it. “Names are a powerful thing. Perhaps you should think twice before giving yours out so freely.”

“You are my husband.” Belle was careful to keep her voice steady. “All that I have is yours now.”

His golden eyes flashed at her at this, something dark swimming beneath his jovial act.

She tried not to blink, only breaking her gaze when something caught her attention beyond him. “Is that a-?"  

Her voice dwindled away as she took a few steps to her left, careful not to go nearer to him but wanting a better angle. A bed lay at the back of the room. A single wooden door, crisscrossed with blackened iron stood next to it. The message was clear.

“A bed?” Belle jumped in surprise. He had somehow managed to get directly beside her, his face only inches away from her own. He grinned at her discomfort; his rotten teeth were crooked and stained. “Yes, it is a bed, very astute. They did tell me you were clever.”

Her eyes flickered from the bed back to her husband, as her heart thudded feebly in its cage. There had been no wedding ceremony but that didn’t matter here, not in this forgotten place.

“Now,” he murmured, his words heavy with promise.“It is our wedding night. We mustn’t waste too much time." He was no longer grinning. Now, his face was filled with intent. A wave of panic washed over her at the idea of lying with a murderous sorcerer. She knew the ways of men and women. She had found those books before she was sixteen… but was this creature even a man in that way?

The pale face of the only Bride she had ever seen in person floated to her mind. She had been a young woman with pale blonde hair and porcelain skin. Belle wondered if this was the same bed she had lain on...

As her knees unexpectedly hit the edge of the bed, Belle sat abruptly as her day dress rustled around her. Without missing a beat, her husband bent down so they were face to face, her wide brown eyes reflected in his golden stare. He slowly lifted his hand, his fingers poised to snap when Belle blurted out, “Wait!” and grasped his hand within her own small ones.

The Dark One looked down at their hands, his clawed fingers lost under her palms. He was warm. The thin skin of her fingers scratched across his scales. Warmer than the cool room they were in should allow for a cold-blooded creature such as a snake. She filed that thought away as he opened his mouth in a scathing retort but she cut him off. "I haven’t given you my wedding present yet, husband.”

His mouth stilled. It opened slightly before closing. His eyes continued to watch her, but the darkness in them lifted slightly. He cocked his head to the right, wisps of his long hair falling around his jaw as he regarded her in silence. “I’ll admit it surprising,” he finally said. “I hadn’t expected a lady such as yourself to be so forthcoming in that regard. Most of the higher born are particularly squeamish when it comes to matters of the wedding bed.”

“How dare you! I’m not – that’s not what I meant at all!”

He quirked a brow at her, his amusement evident. “Some of my brides have been most willing,” he whispered as he pressed closer to her. Belle willed herself not to shrink back, and kept her head raised high. He lowered his lips to her ear, his breath tickling her lobe. “They were eager to see what the Dark One could offer them that their peasant boys could not.”

“What of the others?” Belle demanded. Their noses were inches apart. “The ones who cried and begged as they were dragged to the gates?”

“Oh those,” he said. He plopped down on the bed beside her and rubbed a hand over his eyes. “Tedious cows. Cried for hours.”

Hours. Not days. Or weeks. They only had hours.

“Tick, tock,” he sang in her ear. His hot breath tickled her neck and Belle shuddered despite her best intentions. He breathed like a man, perhaps he was mortal after all. His fingers inched up her arm as he pulled her sleeve down to expose her thin shift’s straps.

She shrugged out of his grasp and pulled her sleeve back into place. “My gift,” she reminded him.

He frowned at her, obviously displeased at her insistence. “Fine,” he muttered as he crossed his arms. “Let’s have the lady’s gift before we have our wedding night.” Belle opened her mouth to speak but he surprised her. “Or shall I give you your wedding gift first, Belle?” The Dark One laughed at her expression, a high-pitched giggle like a child who won at their play. “Oh yes, I give all my brides a gift on our wedding night.”

Belle kept her eyes fixed straight ahead so she could see him out of the corner of her eye. He was playing with something in his hands now, a gold glittering thing. A bracelet perhaps? But it was too long, it seemed to loop around his wrist a few times and still it hung slack in his grasp. “What is your gift, husband?”

“Ah,” he said as he wagged a finger at her. The gold dipped and shifted as he toyed with it, loops and circles, squares and triangles forming as he moved his wrists in a fluid movement. “A deal.”

“A deal?” 

“Hmm,” he agreed. “There’s that cleverness again.” She flashed a look at him but he did not catch her eye. Belle had the oddest feeling he was joking with her but the moment passed. "Indeed. The Deal is simple. The door beside you is unlocked. You are free to go at anytime. You can walk out that door and it will take you to where you most want to be in this world.”

“But?”

“But,” he continued, dipping the gold into a spiral. “Unless you possess the love of your husband, you will die the instant you cross the threshold.”

He had made them kill themselves. Face a lifetime of this room with this beast or end it all with a single step.

He draped the chain around her neck, looping it twice so it hung in loops across her collarbone. “Do you like your present, wife?”

She didn’t dare move. His clawed fingers traced down the side of her neck. The gold chain chilled her skin. “Present?” Belle hissed. “You gave them a choice between slavery and suicide.“

“Well, yes, some did take the coward’s way out,” he confirmed with a gleeful smile. “Some thought they had true love waiting for them at home, and we all know true love can break any curse... Guess they were wrong!” 

Her fingers gripped her skirts as she tried to anchor herself in this nightmare. "And the others?"

“A few lasted a few months with me,” he shared as his fingers roamed into in her hair. He plucked out the pinning and her curls spilled down over her back. “Eventually they all try to leave. As if after months of their declarations of adoration and carnality equaled love." He buried his nose in her hair and took a deep breath. Belle closed her eyes against the urge to scream. "Now,” he whispered. “It is our wedding night, wife.”

Despite her disgust, she placed a hand on his knee. He stilled his exploration, as his eyes glittering down on her pale hand across his black leather breeches. Belle nearly let out a sigh of relief but caught herself. “What of my present to you?"

His eyes narrowed in suspicion. “What is it? A lock of your hair? A golden ring?”

For a brief second, Belle’s confidence wavered. She had nothing to offer, nothing but...a soft smile curved her lips. For the first time since she had stepped through her father's door, Belle found her footing. “No, husband,” Belle said, smiling slightly at him in the darkness. “Tis a story.”

“A story?” he echoed. His voice oddly lower than his usual trill. “What on earth do I want with a story? I'd rather just the bedding.”

“You gave me your gift already,” Belle pointed out. “We can’t have our wedding night until I give you mine.”

His golden eyes glared at her, suspicion and distrust reflected in his body language. She couldn’t help but glory at his obvious disappointment. “Fine,” he mumbled and waved a hand at her. “Quick then, tick tock.”

Belle licked her lips. Closing her eyes and taking a deep breath, Belle reached down deep into her well of stories. All the books she had devoured as a child, all the books she had researched in late nights when she couldn’t sleep... this was the moment she had been preparing for her entire life without ever realizing it.

When she opened her eyes, he was still sitting petulantly next to her. He looked like a child angry at being sent to bed without his dessert. She found the analogy so amusing she relaxed despite herself. This just caused him to frown harder.

And so, Belle began. “Once upon a time…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope a few of you noticed the Crocodile reference I slipped in!


	3. Once Upon a Time

_Once upon a time, there lived a princess._

_With lips as red as blood, hair as black as ebony and skin as white as snow, the Princess Snow White was the fairest in all the land b_ _ut the beautiful princess was cursed by her evil and jealous stepmother to an endless slumber that appeared as if death had claimed her._ _She was laid to rest in the castle’s courtyard in a glass coffin so all who saw her would know the price of angering the Evil Queen. Her beauty would fade with age and death as a warning to all the other beauties of the land._

_Fortunately, the Princess was well loved and saved from this fate._

_Seven dwarves stole the coffin to be laid to rest in a forest hideaway. On a snowy winter night, they bowed their heads to say their final goodbye to their lady. J_ _ust as the sun began to rise, the hooves of a steed rang through the clearing. Fearing the queen, the dwarves prepared to fight to defend their Princess from the degradation planned for her._

_Yet, instead of the Evil Queen’s henchman, the rising sun illuminated the white and noble steed of Prince Charming, the princess’s one true love._ _He had ridden through the mountains and over the beaches of the land searching for the missing princess. When he saw the dwarves standing armed, bearded cheeks coated with ice from tears and snow, he fell to his knees before her coffin._

_All was lost._

_The kingdom would fall to darkness and death as the Evil Queen reigned supreme. The day’s rays were a mockery, shining gently on the upturned and still beautiful face of the young princess._ _A feeling of madness seized the prince and he pushed past her devoted guards to tilt the coffin open. Ignoring their cries of horror, the prince lowered his lips to hers; hoping that death would be catching and he could go with her from this world._

_As his tears mixed with her cold skin, a sudden light emanated from her prone figure enveloping the two of them in a cocoon of light before bursting outwards to rush in every direction in a wave of wind._ _The princess blinked awake, terror from her nightmares receding as she found herself in the embrace of her true love._

_He gathered her up in his arms as he bent to kiss her again-_

“I say,” interrupted a snide voice. “There’s an awful lot of kissing in this tale, dearie.”

Belle tried not to shrink away at the look of malicious sangfroid the Dark One was directing at her. She found herself speechless as she tried to find her way back from the story she had been weaving.

He leaned closer to her. “I think there are better things to do with our time, wife,” her husband snickered as his clawed finger traced her bare forearm in suggestion.

Belle placed a hand over his to still him. He paused to trace the smooth skin of the back of her hand before looking up with squinted eyes to peer into her face.

“I haven’t finished the story…”

She hoped he hadn’t heard the waver in her voice. A long beat passed. His yellow eyes flickered in the dim candlelight of her prison as he wavered between honoring his agreement to listen and his obvious impatience to be done with it. “Skip ahead then,” he groused. He pulled his hand back and folded his arms across his chest. Her skin tingled where he had touched her. She resisted the urge to rub at it to remove the feeling of him. He held up a long finger and wagged in her face. “No more kissing.”

Belle nodded hurriedly in agreement. She mentally edited the rest of the tale as she tried to remember where she had been in her story. Finally, she recalled and with a nod to herself, she continued.

_The wedding of Snow White and Prince Charming was held in the inner solarium of the castle of her late father. The room was filled to the brim with guests. All had turned out to see the bond of true love, which had saved the kingdom from the Evil Queen._

_As the priest proclaimed them husband and wife-_  

He impatiently cleared his throat. Belle paused long enough to throw him a look of vexation. When her eyes met the golden ones of a clearly not amused Dark One, Belle looked hurriedly away and back down to her hands folded neatly in her lap. Her plan was quickly unraveling. She found herself speaking louder as her nerves worked against her.

_The sun set through the stained windows of the solarium, bathing the newly wedded King and Queen in the rainbow light, when the main doors to the room flew open as if a troll had thrown them free from their hinges._ _Before the royal guards could react, they flew upwards to the lofty ceiling high overhead before plummeting. Their screams cut short as they met the floor. The wedding guests huddled together in fear as a black phantom glided forward as if on air to stand before the newlyweds._

_With eyes like coal and a mouth twisted in a cruel black slash, the Evil Queen stared down her stepdaughter. Hatred blazed as hot as embers in her dark eyes._ _She was a beautiful woman...striking and regal but her beauty was tainted by a darkness that seemed to envelop her like a second skin. The guests closer to the front pushed back from her in fear._

_The light from the setting sun went out as if a cloud has passed between them and the sun. As the guests watched in horror, the Evil Queen raised her arms to the ceiling, black lighting crackling from her fingertips as she announced her wedding gift._ _She proclaimed a curse upon them all. From the new monarchs to the lowest pig boy in the realm- the end of happiness, the dearth of dreams- a bleakness and horror to damn any happy endings._

_She gifted them death._

_And so, the royal wedding was marred by the threat of complete destruction to all happiness._

_Guests left and spread the tale to every corner of the kingdom and the people acted out in terror, calling upon their king and queen to save them from their fates._ _In the midst of the growing panic, the Queen quickened._ _They announced the soon to be birth of a coming heir to the throne. A babe to lay the kingdom’s minds at ease, an heir to the throne._ _And it worked for a time._

_The townspeople went back to their trades, the farmers returned to their fields and the nobility relaxed in their estates but the Queen was not able to forget._

_As time passed, the King found his wife was drifting away from him. Nothing could ease her mind. Patrols were sent out to find the Evil Queen but returned empty handed. Sorcerers were consulted but their powers were no match for their prey. She was nowhere to be found._

_And so, the Queen, heavy with child, came to her husband one day, in supplication to see Him._

_The one who could see the future._

_The King was against the idea, refusing to listen to her pleas, determined to find the Evil Queen without the aid of a fellow monster._ _Queen Snow White was not to be denied. And so, after weeks of her tears and ire, King Charming agreed to take her down to the lowest pit of the dungeon where He rotted away._

 Belle paused for breath. Her heart was still racing wildly. The overwhelming presence of the magician in the room felt stifling. Clearing her throat, she idly checked the reaction of her audience. He had been silent for the past hour, utterly still as she had softly spoken.

To her surprise, the creature was bent forward, listening intently with a small smirk on his scaled face. His sharp teeth poked out like jagged rocks. At her gaze, he quirked an eyebrow at her in a silent demand for her to continue. Belle nodded, turning away and taking a deep breath to continue. A sense of giddiness infused her, and bravery took her tongue from her.

_He was a vile creature, born with the face of a lizard and the body of a bat._ _Once the beast knew one’s name, He had great power over them. He could see their future, twist their desires and steal their souls with a flick of His yellow reptilian eyes._ _He was entombed in the deepest pit. Large stone columns barred his cell. They were infused with ancient light magic to counter His dark ones. The stalactites and stalagmites were like sharp fingers grasping for each other in the torchlight._

_For a moment, there was no movement._

_Then, slowly a figure peeled itself from the ceiling, flying down from the high cave top to settle in a crouched heap against the stone bars. The torchlight lit the green and bronze scales of His face as the black leather of His wings enveloped His body from sight._ _The Queen and King stood before Him, hooded and robed, preparing their questions when He released a cold laugh of cheerful scorn._

_He knew them._

_He called their names in the silence of the pits and laughed at their fear._ _The Queen demanded Him to tell her of the future- but He laughed at her, wings twitching and scurrying the bones of the dead mice and rats on the floor of His cage around His ankles._

_Everything costs something._

_When the creature named His demand- the name of the unborn child in her belly- the King refused b_ _ut the Queen was not to be denied._

_She agreed to the soothsayer’s demand._

_His leather skin creaking, he reached out a claw to caress the air before them, tracing something that neither of their eyes could see._ _He spoke of a sacrifice._

_Of the savior of the kingdom to be born into the curse. The product of true love that would sacrifice her own happy ending for the good of all._

_He was not to be denied. With an angry shriek, He rose up in the air, wings batting the cage walls mercilessly as He shrieked for His price- the name of their daughter._

_The King dismissed his powers, thinking his heir to be a son._

_The creature only laughed. And the Queen knew deep in her heart- He was right._

_A name parted from her lips before she fled from the dungeons, her husband following after her._

_Neither saw Him smile His bloodstained grin, rolling the princess’s name around His tongue like a mantra._

Belle faked a slow yawn. She raised a hand to hide it from his eyes. She needed a moment to remember the next part of the story. It had been long years since she last read it. The Dark One was closer to her than he had been when she had started her tale. His eyes gleamed in open interest as he peered at her through the gloom. Belle’s heart thudded rapidly in her chest. She was sure he heard it in the quiet between them.

“Tis late, husband,” Belle pointed out. Not that it mattered to her. Adrenaline still coursed through her veins. It had only been a matter of hours since she had left Nan in the library and over a day since she had slept. Sleep was far from her mind. Survival was the only thing she could grasp in her current state. “Would you like me to continue on the morrow?”

Her throat was slightly scratchy from all the talking and her tongue was dry but her husband seemed not to notice. “Continue,” he said with a twinkle of spiteful laughter. “I do love a story with a happy ending.”

While his mocking tone gave her pause, his attention currently diverged from his earlier goals lent her confidence as she delved back into her tale.

_The monarchs called a meeting of their most trusted advisors to save their unborn daughter._

_The council disagreed on their course of action._

_A few called for the safety of the unborn Princess. A few called for the sacrifice of one for the many._

_The end was near. They could all feel it._

_Just as all hope was lost, the tiniest but most powerful of the council entered the room._ _The Blue Fairy was the leader of the light in the realm, as tiny as a maiden’s hand. She wielded the power of all the faeries of the land._ _She told them of an enchanted tree whose bark was strong enough to pierce the darkest of curses. It would have to be wielded by the product of true love- the only force powerful enough to face the hatred and black magic of the Evil Queen._

_A babe could not wield the weapon. The Princess would have to be raised by her mother in secret. The Kingdom would be told they had died in childbirth and the Evil Queen’s revenge would be taken from her. Her curse would fail without its primary target and the kingdom would be safe until the day the young princess could take a stand against her mother’s sworn enemy._

_Thus, the last month of the Queen’s pregnancy passed. The royal woodcarver toiled day and night to hone the large wooden trunk into a weapon, preparing for the birth of the child. He and his son would spirit away the mother and daughter to a protected place the Blue Fairy had found for them._

_Yet, the Queen found no joy in their plan. Few find true love in this lifetime and the thought of parting from her husband brought her misery. The King, wise and strong in ways he himself did not know, tried to console her with words of love and devotion._

_For all know, for true love, time is nothing._

The Dark One's claws tapped the bed impatiently. “Move along,” he muttered ominously.

“It’s part of the story,” Belle defended, not being able to help herself. Stories were sacred to her. She did not appreciate her audience’s generous editing.

“I fail to see the point,” he drawled. “The soothsayer already foretold their downfall.”

“No, he didn’t, he told them-“

“Never you mind, dearie,” her husband chuckled. “You do tell the story so beautifully.”

“You know it?” Belle asked in surprise. “It’s an old fairy tale Nan used to tell me when I was still in the nursery.“

“That would be telling,” he admonished her with a pointed finger. Belle looked at him in silence, searching for what she was missing. The Dark One met her gaze evenly allowing her perusal. “Do skip ahead to the curse part.”

Belle nodded slowly, finding herself once more on uncertain terrain. She picked up the story, rushing ahead to the final battle. 

_The bells rang out overhead as lighting crackled and thunder roared._

_The curse had arrived._

_The timing could not have been worse. The King knelt by his Queen’s side as she labored to bring their daughter forth into the world._ _The council stood at the round table, eyes fastened on the swirling cloud that was descending rapidly down the mountain with no way to stop it. The woodcarver stood at the castle gates, searching desperately for his son._

_It was over._

_The Princess would be born just as the darkness took them all._

_As the Princess took her first breath, Queen Show White ordered the King to take their child to safety. She would let the curse take her in the hopes she would buy her daughter’s future with her sacrifice. T_ _he curse roared its descent from the mountain, birds screaming as they flew in terror away from the darkness._ _The King rushed headlong through the empty halls of his keep, his newborn daughter cradled in his arms. She was silent but awake, as if she knew her fate hung in the balance of this flight._

_When the King made it to the stairs, he found the henchman of the Evil Queen standing over the bodies of his fallen guards. Blood was spreading from their cooling bodies, dripping off the broad swords of the lackeys as they advanced upon the new father._

_Desperation gives men strength beyond their ken._

_The hired guards of darkness found themselves facing a whirlwind as the King struck them down with his right hand, sword ringing as it pierced their magicked armor and found their frail human bodies. In his left, he cradled his child b_ _ut a father cannot protect his children from the evils of the world. Blood splattered across her face and the new Princess tasted death minutes after she had tasted life._

_The King turned to take the stairs, only to find himself impaled upon the broad sword of an unseen assailant. A coward’s blow._

_Desperation gave one final push to the arm of the dying man, and the King slid his sword into the gut of his daughter’s would be kidnapper._ _His daughter’s cries as she was taken up into the arms of evil were the last thing King Charming heard._

_And so the castle fell to darkness._

_The henchman gutted by the King lay dead feet from his victim when Queen Snow White staggered from her bed at her daughter’s cries._ _She fell to her knees, her white nightgown now soiled with the mess of her labor and sweat and the hot blood of her husband dying it beyond recognition as she cradled his head in her lap._

_Her daughter nowhere to be seen as_ _the curse came closer and closer._

_The Queen dipped her head to her husband’s mouth for a kiss- hope that true love would save him as it had saved her all those months ago- but his lips were cool and unresponsive beneath her own._

_And then it was over._

_Every glass in the castle blew out as the curse took them all, snaking in like a whirlwind and sucking everyone into the darkness they had had feared since their first nightmares._ _And far, far down in the pits of the castle’s innards, He grinned into the darkness; spreading His wings wide in welcome as the curse billowed towards Him._

_A young boy sat huddled in terror next to the cage, the newborn Princess wailing in his arms._ _The woodcarver’s son had rescued the Princess from her dying captor and brought her to the soothsayer who had seen the boy’s young heart and twisted it to fit His own agenda._

_As the curse reached out a tendril to take the boy and the wailing newborn in his arms, it instead met the touch of the innocent child who knew death and life equally._

_In a wave of pure magic, the curse and the child disappeared as if they had never been, l_ _eaving the inhabitants of the Enchanted Forest staggering in confusion as they found themselves alive and unharmed._

_Revealing a blood stained Queen bent over the body of her King._

_Causing an enraged Evil Queen to scream in utter rage at the unfairness of it all._

_Removing a beast from His cage._

_No one knew what happened to the young princess._

_Because no one remembered her._

As the words trailed off her lips, Belle realized why this tale had come to her so quickly out of the countless others she had read over the years…

It was the story of a Princess’s coerced sacrifice to save her kingdom.

She cleared her throat, trying to wipe away the tears in her eyes under the curtain of her hair. The Dark One sat prone beside her. He had been utterly quiet the entire last part of the story. As she composed herself, Belle stood. She didn’t look down at him as she moved to the side of the room to stretch her muscles. In truth, she couldn’t stand to be near to him any longer. Her entire body tingled with awareness of the evil thing beside her and the ghosts of every other woman who had been here before her threatened to choke the air from her lungs.

She was startled when a pitcher and a glass appeared on the table just as she reached it. Her jailor was pensive, lost still in the world she had been sharing with him. Debating to take a sip of the cool water, Belle found herself gazing into its depths. Her pale streaked face looked back up at her, dried tears on her cheeks. She rubbed at them as she poured herself a drink.

If he meant to poison her, he would. If he meant to cause her to die of thirst, he would. She had no power here, nothing but her words and her bravery.

Would that be enough to save herself?

The water was cool, refreshing after the hours she had spent talking. She sighed as she finished her glass, lowering it to back down to the table’s surface.

“And the rest?”

Belle raised her gaze to find her husband staring at the door.

“I’m sorry?” Belle asked. The water had relieved the scratching in her throat better than she had thought it would.

“The rest of the story?” he asked again. He fiddled with his cuffs. “You said my gift was a story... not a part of it.”

A sense of disbelief and relief mixed in her veins making her heady. She couldn’t tell time but she knew dawn had to be close by the continuing heaviness of her eyelids. She held back a yawn. “Tomorrow,” Belle promised. “I’ll finish it tomorrow.”

He stood and went to the door without pause. As he opened it, Belle craned her neck to see a long winding staircase just beyond it. It was made of the same stone as her room.

“Tomorrow, then wife,” he said with a small mock bow. “Sleep tight. Don’t let the mites bite.”

With the slamming of the iron-spiked door, he left her alone to her thoughts. Amidst all the fear and anger, sadness and exhaustion, Belle pushed past it all to hold onto the most important thing. For the story of the little lost princess had reminded her that while her life was forfeit, she could still save others.

As dawn broke outside the Dark Castle, the young lady in the dungeon made a promise to herself and her kingdom heard only by her and the fates.

She would be the last of the Brides.

At any price.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I own nothing- especially not the twisted version of the pilot episode flash back that I used as tonight's tale. 
> 
> I hope you all enjoyed it. The next chapter will hopefully be a bit lighter on story and more focused on Belle's continuing to deal with her new situation. 
> 
> This chapter was a way to set up the overall idea behind the Dark One as someone who has been around a very long time. So no, Snow White and Charming are not in the same time period as Belle lives. In fact, they like the Spinner and the Dealer King are long gone people who have been turned into stories. 
> 
> To everyone who reviewed, thank you! It means the world to me. I really hope you all enjoy this chapter.
> 
> EDIT: Shoutout to hisorako for catching a format issue I missed!


	4. The Curse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Second Night

_Every story needs a villain._

_Who wants to hear about a beautiful vapid princess meeting the rich and chauvinistic prince of her dreams, settling down to live happily ever after and having a litter of little royals?_

_No one._

_But add a foe….and what a difference._

_Now, the princess displays unknown virtues strength and courage. The prince turns out to be brave beyond compare, learning the true meaning of love in his quest._

_Everyone knows those fairy tales._

_But what of the ones you haven’t heard of?_

_The ones where the hero fails? Where the princess falls to grief?_

_What of those who succumb to the darkness in their own hearts?_

_Surely those are worth the listen._

_Besides._

_Happy endings are so predictable._

Five hundred and fifty six.

Belle closed her eyes to alleviate the pounding ache just behind her eyes. The cool darkness behind her eyelids was a welcome relief. But only for an moment, her heart rate spiked up as unbidden fears sprang to mind of the terrors in store for her in this new life. Her eyes flew back open,as her hand rose shakily to her chest. The pressure of her palm against her heart did nothing but ground her more firmly to the concept of fear.

Since the Dark One had disappeared from her cell, Belle had tried to keep herself busy. She had managed a few moments of stolen sleep before nightmares had chased her back to waking, thoughts of what a monster could do to her while she was unaware…

The sleeping curse was a fixture in the tales of the land for a reason. What was more terrifying than a sleep like death where you were still utterly helpless?

So, Belle counted the stones. She measured the space between the walls. She did anything and everything to keep the increasing levels of fear from overwhelming her.

For the door was open and with a single step it could all be over.

When that thought crossed her mind, Belle would start to count the stones again.

 _Mirror, Mirror on the wall  
_  
_Who sees and knows the truth of every hall  
_  
_Show me the darkest of them all._

_Beware the looking glass. For it is a seductive and untrustworthy advisor who will lie to you without qualm._

_The looking glass serves only the will of the Evil Queen._

_She is darkness in the absence of light. No mere shadow of evil but the blackness that engulfs everything it touches._

_She dwells in darkness. The light of the torches reflect off a thousand mirrored surfaces, bouncing black light in a dizzying array of magic. The stones of the castle are bathed in twilight, black clouds obscuring any sun from ever touching her halls._

_Her Looking Glass is her eyes and ears to the world beyond her keep. He loves her as the thieves love the dark, desperately and utterly._

_His love is in vain. The Queen loves nothing._ _She can only hate with a passion that is a twisted mockery of the strength of true love._

_Her hatred warms her, fire crackling in her soul, consuming everything else. She cannot concentrate on anything beyond the desire to see her hate victorious. For revenge against the creature who took her happiness form her once upon a time._

_Such power of darkness commands fear. Her countless minions do not love or respect her but they serve her loyally. Some were once noble men who had fallen ill of her grace and who she had bewitched for her own amusement. Others were opportunists, mercenaries, dark hearted evil men who knew their kind and flocked to its banner._

_She cared not. They were below her but served her purposes nicely._

_She had her looking glass as an advisor. She had the one person she trusted in the world as her second in command. And she had others. Others who had given in to the darkness of their hearts and now commanded its unholy power._

_Others like her._

There was no way to know the passing of the time. So, when her husband threw the door open with a laugh, Belle nearly jumped out of her skin.

Striding into the room, he looked around with interest, ignoring her as she pressed up against the wall on the far side of the room. “You’ve redecorated."

Belle glanced at where she had pushed the odd desk into the far corner of the room. “It was in the way,” she explained. It had been covering a small grate area, which she had assumed was the room's equivalent to a chamber pot.

“Quite,” he agreed with a wiggle his shoulders. Gone were the leather breeches and tailored scaled jacket he had worn yesterday. Today, he was in a black pointed overcoat, the shoulders covered in tall black spikes which moved like reeds when he swayed. His breeches were of similar color but made of what appeared to be like armor, stiff and ungiving. He was dressed as if for battle. "And how was your day, wifey?” he inquired as he stalked near her.

Belle realized too late she had pinned herself in a corner. Before she could move, he was before her. His eyes roved over her face as if searching for something. The round bulging orbs reflected herself back at her, pale and afraid. Belle wanted to be brave but courage deserted her as his hand rose slowly to her side. HIs clawed hand settled on her hip as if it belonged there. A clawing nausea started deep in her stomach, aversion to the casual touch through the layers of her gown making her itch. He didn’t see it in her eyes. He was too focused on watching his hand casually stroke her hip, memorized by it.

The instinct to flee was screaming in her blood but she was trapped. The beast may hide behind armors and spikes to hide his smaller frame but there was no denying the latent power of his wiry body. He was too quick and there was nowhere to go other than in her twenty foot by twenty foot cell. “T’was dull,” Belle replied. She was surprised to find her voice was calm and steady.

The Dark One stilled his hand. He blinked at her in confusion but his hand stayed where it lay. Keeping his eye, Belle slowly plucked his hand off her hip and took it in her own. The cool roughness of it was growing familiar. She managed not to shiver in revulsion as he glanced down at their joined hands. She squeezed his hand before hastily dropping it. 

“But you are here now, and I owe you the rest of your story.”

A snort followed this. “That’s not what I’m here for, dearie.”

“Belle,” she corrected him with firmness. She lowered herself in the chair by the desk, trying to get comfortable on the hard wooden surface. Her husband looked about in obvious frustration at the bed, which was now clear on the other side of the room.

“Clever, dearie,” he said snidely as he realized the real reason she had moved her desk. He was left to stand before her, sit on the floor or take the only other option, which placed a large amount of distance between them in the small room. Belle allowed herself a small grin at her own cleverness.

But it was for nothing.

With a single snap of his fingers, the Dark One conjured a luxurious love seat. He settled himself into its deep cushions with a satisfied snicker. He eyed her in obvious amusement as their feet touched beneath her skirts.

Belle opened her mouth to complain about his trick but snapped it shut. With pursed lips, she glanced down at her hands and tried to recall where she had ended their tale the night before. “Right then,” she started but he cut her off with a finger raised to her lips. Belle recoiled backwards as her breath hit the scaled appendage. Her spine hit the hard backing of her chair and tipped her backwards.

His arm shot out to catch her, his spiked sleeve drawn across her face as it held the back of the chair from tipping into the desk. The other hand was holding her shoulder, gripping her so tightly it bruised. Had that been magic or something more inherent?

He righted the chair before releasing her. “Careful,” he sang.

Belle’s shoulders were tense enough to break and there was a quivering in her jaw that signaled tears were imminent. “My thanks,” she stuttered. “You … you startled me, husband.”

His eyes were bright with mischief. “Ah,” he said. “You must learn not to be so easily spooked, wife. You will tire yourself out.” His eyes lingered tellingly on her face where dark circles hung under her eyes from her lack of sleep.

“I’ll remember that,” Belle promised before she cleared her throat to begin. She looked forward to losing herself in her story, anything to block out the nightmare in the room with her.

“Ah!” He raised his finger again but mercifully kept it from her lips. “About the story..."

“What now?” Belle snapped as exhaustion and frustration won over common sense. 

His eyes narrowed into slits. “Careful,” the Dark One growled. “I’ve given you some lenience wife. Do not mistake it for kindness.”

Duly warned, Belle only stared back in silence. A rising pressure in the room signaled some sort of power emanating from the sorcerer. It curled about him like a snake, gathering itself before it struck. “I understand,” Belle replied. Magic hovered around him as she quivered beneath his glare.

After a long moment, when she was sure her lungs would collapse from not breathing, he snorted in disgust. “I’m not in the mood for your little stories tonight, wife,” he snarled. “There are other matters to attend to.“ His insinuating tone made it obvious what those matters were. 

Clutching at straws, Belle gasped. “But the curse! Don’t you want to know how the Evil Queen got it?”

The snake stilled. He watched her from under his brows as he contemplated her offer. “How would you know about that?” he asked with a soft hum. He tapped his chin thoughtfully. “That’s not a part of the story.”

So, her husband did indeed know the tale. She wondered why he agreed to let her tell it when he already knew it but she didn’t dare question her good luck. Tentatively, she spread her hands open before him in a beseeching gesture. “My father’s library has certain tomes. I may have…. borrowed a few without his knowing.”

A sly grin spread across the Dark One’s features. His scaled face cracked in two to reveal the stained and jagged teeth. “My, my,” he chuckled. He burrowed back into his seat with wicked pleasure. “You are full of surprises. A lady who has read a dark tome. How interesting.”

Belle flushed at his suggestive tone. She had been a stubborn child. When she had learned her father had books locked away she had spent three weeks plotting to get a hold of them. Nan had found her, hiding beneath her bed in terror two nights after she had liberated the books. Belle had been thirteen when her innocence was tainted with the evils of the world. She had never forgotten the penalties of curiosity.

“In that case,” he mulled. He trilled wordless syllables as he thought it over, his head lolling around on his neck. It twisted and dipped like a snake before he straightened with a laughing wiggle and nodded at her. "Do tell.”

Belle took a deep breath, squeezing the nails into the palm of her hand to keep the sickness at bay as she told one of the stories of the darkest tomes.

The one that had given her nightmares before she had learned what nightmares truly were.

_Sliding over snow and ice, the Shadow Carriage of the Evil Queen raced up the snow-covered mountain. The black eyed stallions’ breath rose in spiraling mist as they pushed their muscles to pull the black armored coach, cushioned in rich upholstery and spiked with iron steel. The only opening was a small oval glass- shaped like a looking glass with a heavy iron frame around it. But there was no one to look inside for they were far off the roads- no one came to this part of the mountains._

_No one dared._

_For here in the Cold Mountain, there was only a castle where once upon a time a beautiful princess had lived._

_Until a sorceress who had heard tell of the princess’s beauty came to see with her own eyes._

_Upon her first sight of the beautiful blonde princess, dancing in the arms of her betrothed, the sorceress Maleficent had coveted her._

_She gifted the princess beauty beyond compare. She lavished upon her the utter devotion of her kingdom and a long life to rule it wisely. She gave all she could give including her heart before she went before the King to request his daughter’s hand._

_Yet, the King refused the sorceress’s offers of protection and power for his daughter and her kingdom. He had planned his daughter’s wedding with the neighboring King since their birth- hoping to expand their power in the realm by uniting the two kingdoms without war._

_He shunned Maleficent- shaming her before the court. The princess had the audacity to giggle and flush at the older woman, whispering to her mother she would rather die than marry such an old dragon._

_Heartbroken and in a rage, the sorceress tried to take her gifts back from the ungrateful child. But her heart, broken and shattered, had already gifted her health and happiness._

_The sorceress was not powerless. She cast a sleeping curse- the most powerful magic in her possession over the entire kingdom- casting them all into a slumber from which they would never wake._

_But all magic comes with a price._

_The sorceress found herself twisted in jealously and heartbreak into the very thing her heart’s desire had seen her as- a dragon._

_Thus, the kingdom fell._

_The purple-scaled dragon Maleficent roamed the halls of the castle, watching her unrequited love sleep in a timeless and ageless slumber while her prince lay just beyond her sleeping reach- unable to bestow upon her true love’s kiss and break the curse._

_Maleficent lived in fear of someone taking her princess form her sight. And her heart grew cold as she learned to love the shining gold and silver in her clutches. Soon, she was no longer a sorceress but a true dragon with the voice of a woman._

_Of course, her powerful display of magic caught the attention of others. Soon, Maleficent had quite a collection of burned and charred fellow magicians in her courtyard- all who had come to steal her sleeping curse and use it against her to plunder her castle._

_When the Evil Queen appeared in a plume of black and green smoke, Maleficent opened her jaws, fire burning hot in her throat to broil the intruder where she stood._

_The dragon was surprised to find herself suddenly standing before the Evil Queen, naked, blonde and human once more._

_Powerless in this form, magic all but forgotten as a dragon, Maleficent still stood tall, staring down the strange witch who had enchanted her back to her original form._

_The two struck a bargain. The Evil Queen was in need of a sleeping curse- a pestering princess problem- and in return, she would leave her a curse to end all curses- an end to happy endings._

_Fearful of losing her princess to this dark curse, Maleficent agreed, taking the scroll from the Evil Queen and finding the old staff she had once leaned upon where she hid her curse._

_The exchange was made, and Maleficent was left in her castle upon the mountains- a woman once more._

 “Didn’t work thought, did it?”

Belle shifted in her chair. She was uncomfortable. Her back was on fire and her backside ached from the unforgiving wood. Before she could adjust herself, Belle sank into a cushion, as her back relaxed despite her surprise. Her husband was pressed alongside her on the small loveseat. He leaned into her without care for her personal space. Breathing in deeply, his nose buried in her hair as his hand rose up as if to stoke her skin once more.

Belle shrank away from him. She tried to find her feet but hard cruel hands pushed her backwards as he leaned into her. His face was snarled and twisted, a malicious power curling about his shoulders again. “Let me go!“ she demanded as she wiggled against him. 

Tears prickled her eyes as Belle went limp at the futility of it.

She had tried.

To her surprise, he did nothing more than breathe her in. His hands locked on her upper arms, spikes pressing painfully into her side.

“Am I so horrifying you cannot stand my touch?”

 Belle twisted to the spikes didn't dig in quite so hard. “Please...you’re hurting me.”

Talons tightened on her flesh. Pain blossomed along her arms. A tear fell down her cheek as she slowly moved her knee to nudge his. “Husband,” she said. “I simply tell you the truth. Would you prefer I lie to you?”

Just like that, he was off her. His chest heaved as he stood over her. His spikes quivering in withheld rage and his breath was rancid as it washed over her. “Shall I tell you the rest of the story?” he hissed. He leaned down to snap his fingers under her nose. A glass of water appeared in her hand and Belle had to jump to cup it before it spilled everywhere. A moment later there was a soft pressure on her lap, a plate of some meat and bread sitting neatly there.

Dinner.

“You already told how the sleeping curse was broken by true love’s kiss but do you know the Dark Curse came back to the Evil Queen, dearie?” Belle shook her head mutely. She knew a bit more about the story of the Dragon Sorceress and she knew more about the Evil Queen’s obsessions but she felt it best to stay quiet in the indecipherable wrath of her husband. “She went back to the Cold Mountain, forced her 'friend' to chose between giving her the curse or watching her precious princess be destroyed. Love is weakness, dearie. That’s the first lesson of this world you should have learned at your father’s hand.”

‘The Dark Curse takes a toll, an emptiness that one can never fill. A gaping hole of want and need that nothing will ever quench. It’s the path to madness, it’s the end of the caster and the death of everything good in this world.” His usual high-pitched lilt was gone, replaced by a dangerously reassuring tone that seemed to command her full attention. “Yet she dared,” he continued. “Her need for revenge led her to pluck the heart of the thing she loved most from its chest and gather the hair of the darkest souls from every corner of the realms.”

He was bending closer and closer to her, until his lips were inches from hers. He snaked out a hand, grasping her chin as he angled his face over hers. A tendril of something- something hot and alien curled in her belly.

It was fear.

A different kind than she had ever known before.

“Revenge is a lonely road,” he told her. His fingers pinched into the tender flesh of her cheeks. “Once you go down it, there’s no heading back.” He had complete control over her and they both knew it. A power snaked through her veins making it impossible for her to move. Belle idly wondered if it was magic. The rolling queasiness in her belly confused her with its insistence. “We’re at a crossroads, wife." He released his grip and stood back from her with a exhalation of disgust. “Power is seductive,” he drawled.

Belle lifted her eyes in defiance. “So is love."

Her husband's face crinkled in loathing at the word.  “That’s what they all say.”

In a rush of black smoke, putrid and choking, he was gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, I do not own anything especially not the bastardized telling of the second episode flashbacks. 
> 
> I know this one got a little darker. A few people may wonder about Belle's reaction towards the end there but I would invite you to rewatch the second episode scene where Regina visits Rumple behind bars. It's a moment where you realize this man has such a command and control over himself and his power that it's weaves a seduction both terrifying and arousing over anyone in his path. 
> 
> Thanks to everyone who is reading and a special thanks to those who are leaving kudos and a hug, kiss and my utter devotion to those reviewing this story. I try to reply to everyone of you to let you know that when you take the time to review I take the time to read and reply. It means the world to me.


	5. The Pretend Prince and The Honest Thief

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Third Night

_Once upon a time, there was a castle._

_It sat high, high above the trees over the sea upon a bluff for all to see. Its gilded towers shone brightly in the sun as beacons across the land. The surrounding waters reflected the gleaming and for miles the waves appeared as a sea of liquid gold._ _In this castle, there lived a Princess who had recently announced she was happily engaged to a charming Prince._

_Except she wasn’t happy._

_And he wasn’t a prince._

_Perhaps, it is a good time to mention the towers weren’t gilded with actual gold either..._

_This was the Realm of King Midas, the Kingdom of Pretend._

_As the new couple traveled down the bumpy road to love- which looked and felt remarkably like the Queen’s Road- in their white carriage surrounded by their white cloaked knights upon snowy white steeds- the lot of pretenders drew the attention of the Fates._ _The Fates choose their form as they will. In this instance, they looked rather like a tree that had fallen across the path._

_As the Pretend Prince took in the scene, he realized something most princes raised to be simply charming would not have noticed._

_The tree had been cut down._

_This was terribly clever of the Pretend Prince but not clever enough. As he had been off busy acting heroic, a thief had helped himself to his Bride-to-Be._ _The beautiful damsel was now very much in distress. Her golden hair was pulled back to expose her swan like throat where a dagger paid court to her dancing pulse._ _The Pretend Prince drew his sword as he demanded the thief to flee. However, the thief was an honest one and he promised he was merely going to take the jewels and go. No harm to any of them as long as they cooperated._

_Of course, the Pretend Prince made a promise of his own. He would find the Honest Thief, no matter where he went, not matter how well he hid- he would find him._

_Nonplussed by this, the Honest Thief slipped the jewels off the Princess’s alabaster skin, one by one. Until at last, the Honest Thief plucked her betrothal ring from her trembling finger and discarded the damsel back into the waiting arms of her Pretend Prince._ _With a mocking bow towards the Pretend Prince, the Honest Thief turned on his heel and disappeared back into the fringes of the forest._

_And here is where the story should have ended. It would have turned into a legend of the clever bandits who outwitted the Royals and took off with a treasure trove of riches b_ _ut the Pretend Prince didn’t know how these things worked. You see, he had never been a Prince before._

_Instead of doing the princely thing, the Pretend Prince jumped upon the closest steed and went in pursuit of the Honest Thief._

_Through the woods, they raced. The Honest Thief knew the shortcuts, the paths and the hidey-holes but the Pretend Prince was determined._

_The Honest Thief could not hide from the Pretend Prince no matter how hard he tried. Wherever he went, the Pretend Prince found him out and the chase started anew until_ _a respect of sort was born between the determined hunter and his elusive rival._

 

“Whatever are you doing?”

Curled up on the unforgiving surface of her bed, Belle lifted her red-rimmed eyes up towards the voice. Her husband stood in the doorway. In his right hand, he carried a brass candelabrum with three candles blazing in the darkness. The flickering lights under his chin threw his face into a grotesque mockery of his usual sharp features. Belle cried out as she scooted backwards away from him.

Closing her eyes from the sight of him, she tensed up in apprehension of his touch. When his usual scaly caress failed to materialize against her skin, Belle opened her eyes in confusion. The door was closed once more, her husband nowhere in sight but the brass candelabrum flickered invitingly from the floor, dispelling the shadows and darkness that had been Belle’s companions when her husband was away.

Belle had thought she had no more tears to weep. Yet, as she scooted off the bed, falling to her knees as she cupped her shaking hands around the slight warmth of the candle’s flames, she felt tears fall down her cheek. With a last glance at the heavy door, Belle took the light back to the table, placing it carefully where it would shine the brightest before she sat before it, watching the flames dance.

She had no idea what time it was but she did not recall seeing the lunch tray that usual signified mid day. Why then had her husband come to her quarters before the sun had set?

With more questions than answers, Belle released a shaky breath before she delved back into the story she had been telling herself to stave off the boredom that threatened to drive her mad. Her soft voice floated through the air as she spun her tale. It floated through the grate of the door and up, up, up the flights of stairs to the waiting ears of the beast she called husband.

 

_Time passed in the forest._

_The Honest Thief, thinking himself free of his princely shadow, grew brazen in his travels only to find himself unexpectedly ensnared in a net of the Pretend Prince._

_For it was as the Pretend Prince had said, no matter where the Honest Thief had run, he would always find him._

_Trapped up by his own arrogance, the Honest Thief complimented the Pretend Prince on his cunning trap as well as his upcoming nuptials._

_The Pretend Prince, aware that even to one’s captives you should show proper respect, thanked him for he was very glad to have true love._

_The Pretend Prince was getting very good at pretending._

_The Honest Thief however did not believe in pretending._

_At this lie, the Honest Thief warned the Pretend Prince of the perils of love. Marriage was no more than transactions and politics. He even went so far as to suggest the Prince’s own engagement was nothing more than an effort to stave off war with Midas’ kingdom._

_At this truth, even the Pretend Prince could no longer pretend to be polite._

_Throwing off his pretenses, the Pretend Prince demanded his Princess’s jewels back for the ring he had given her for his troth was precious to him._

_Sensing the truth in his words, the Honest Thief was interested despite himself. However, he had already sold the jewels to a group of trolls who had been taken by the shining jewels and unaware they were mostly worthless paste._

_A deal was struck. The Pretend Prince would set the Honest Thief free to take him to the Trolls to retrieve his Princess’s ring. And so, he cut down the net and the two set off into the woods towards the dreadful Troll Bridge._

 

She heard his footsteps this time. Pausing her story, she rose to meet him. Belle gathered courage from the flames at her back and she sank into a deep curtsey as her husband swung the door open.

The whispery tendrils of magic passed around her. She did not need to turn to know dinner had appeared behind her on the tabletop. The aroma of bread and fowl was fresh and tempting. She instead kept her gaze on her feet as she slowly raised herself. “Husband,” Belle greeted before she helped herself to the goblet of wine that had materialized with the food. “Is it evening already?”

The Dark One was beside her before she had lowered her goblet from her lips. He was dressed as he had been earlier, a black leather jerkin and matching breeches with blood red lacing calling attention to his hairless sternum, prominent bones stretching the scaled skin over his wiry muscles. “Tis our second night as husband and wife,” he cooed in her ear. She whirled quickly to face him, only to find him now sitting a few feet away on the settee he had conjured the previous evening. Belle hadn’t gone near it since the night before, his terrible temper still fresh in her mind. “And yet I admit, I find myself curious,” he confessed with a twitter of laughter and a grotesque roll of his shoulders.

Belle slowly lowered herself into the chair beside the table. She took another sip of the dark red wine as she braced herself for his next whim. “Curious? Of what?’

“Why, of what happens next.”

Belle blinked at him owlishly as she attempted to follow his meaning. Was he referring to the next step in their sham of a marriage or - “About the story’s curse?” Belle asked in disbelief. “But you know what happens.“

“No, no, no,” he sang. He waved one clawed hand in the air dramatically. Belle’s stomach rumbled, a reminder she hadn’t eaten much of her midday meal. She broke off a piece of the crust. She dipped it in the juice of the roasted meat before popping it into her mouth. “The Prince and the Thief. It’s a pretty little tale.”

“You’ve been listening to me?” Belle exclaimed before she remembered herself. With a flush coloring her cheeks, she averted her eyes from his amused gaze. “I’m sorry, I didn’t realize you could hear me.“

“Magic, dearie,” the Dark One reminded her with a crinkle of his nose.

“May I eat first?” Belle requested as the aroma of the roasted fowl distracted her from her trepidation.

“If you must."

A silence grew between them as Belle helped herself to the roasted skin of the fowl. It was roasted to perfection but no eating utensils had been provided. She glanced down at her black fingernails and dirt smeared palms and winced.

“Husband,” she said before her mind caught up with her stomach. “Perhaps you could be so kind as to be some assistance?”

He jerked his head towards her, eying her in suspicion. “I no longer entrust my brides with sharp instruments, as they cannot be trusted with their own safety.”

Belle blanched. She had known countless women had died here.Their ghosts still suffocated her when she attempted to close her eyes to dream but she had let herself hope they had not known violence.  “I simply meant,” Belle had to stop to hold back the misery in her tone. “Perhaps you could slice the meat for me.” He continued to glare at her from his furrowed brow until she sighed in exasperation. “Use your magic if you don’t trust a knife in my presence.”

He rolled his eyes, but gestured idly with his left hand towards her. Belle braced herself but the magic sliced past her upon the chilled air. She nodded her head in thanks. The meat was now perfectly sliced and the bones and gristle were absent from the plate.

“Picky, picky,” her husband remarked under his breath. “Leave it a lady to be too good to eat with her fingers.”

Belle shook her head as she wiped her fingers on her day dress. She could almost hear Nan sigh in disappointment as she ruined the fine fabric. The childish longing to be a child in her arm’s once again dispelled the hunger. She was worn and drained in her husband’s presence. “Shall I start from the beginning?”

“No need. Something about trolls?”

Belle tried to ignore the merry twinkle in his eye at the idea of the loathsome creatures. She managed not to shudder as she continued the tale of The Prince and the Thief but it was difficult.

 

_Over the course of their long hike to the Troll Bridge, the Pretend Prince and the Honest Thief exchanged stories. The Pretend Prince was a noble and kindhearted pure man even if he was pretending to be a royal. The Honest Thief on the other hand was a dark and skeptic hearted man who had no use of anyone or anything. He relied on himself to survive._

_So, it was no surprise, when they came to the River, the Honest Thief slipped away from the Pretend Prince midstream._

_Only to find himself in the waiting arms a band of ruffians. Recognizing the famous Honest Thief and knowing there was a priceless bounty on his head in many kingdoms, the band of ruffians set upon him._ _Weaponless and outnumbered, the Honest Thief was on the verge of being captured when to his surprise, the Pretend Prince appeared beside him. The two fought the evil band as one- their elaborate chase and time spent traveling together having lent them understanding of the other to let them fight side by side in battle like brothers in arms._

_Once they stood victorious, the Honest Thief agreed to take the Pretend Prince to the trolls and to assist him in regaining his ring. In return, the Pretend Prince agreed to help the Thief get passage on a ship out of the kingdom and across the sea to freedom from a land with a bounty on his head._

_Down the Queen’s Road they travelled ever closer to the terrible Troll Bridge. Both heading towards futures they did not truly want: a loveless marriage and a trip abroad._

_Both heading towards a life of solitude._

_As they neared the Troll Bridge, they went on foot since trolls hate horses more than they hate men. As it was, they would rather cut a man’s off rather than shake it._

_For Trolls were loathsome creatures with skin like solid stone and hair like the gnarled roots. They lived far underneath the great bridge in the bluffs of the river canyon. They had small eyes, black and dull- which only the shine of jewels could brighten and teeth like boars- small pointed with two fanged tusks curling up form their prominent jaws._

_As they entered the Troll Bridge, passing beneath the stone column warning the ignorant of the dangers beyond it, the air itself became dreary and gloomy. Midway down the path, the bride was broken in two, a gaping hole of rock and roots disappearing down into the depths of the canyon and the raging River below._

_The Honest Thief held up one hand in warning for silence, as the leaves rustled and rattled like bones around their feet. The Honest Thief placed his bag of gold upon the bridge’s edge- a token to entice the hidden watchers from their depths. And with a growling like thunder, they were suddenly surrounded by the fearsome creatures._  
_But Fate was once again drawn to the curious duo. For one of the ruffian’s had escaped from their blades and had wandered into their embrace and had told them of the bounty on the head of the Honest Thief who was in the company of the Pretend Prince. He was dead now of course- his hat’s feather dangling from the lip of the Troll King._

_All trolls know royals have the sweetest blood of all and as they surrounded the pair, they openly discussed who would get which part of the princeling. With their only options to be eaten alive or plunge to their deaths in the river far below, the pair had no hope._

_But the Honest Thief had one more trick up his sleeve. An amulet of glass hung around his neck, filled with the fairy dust of a wicked fay, which would turn even the most fearsome opponent into an easily defeated adversary._

_And lo, as the dust fell over the squabbling trolls, they shrank into bugs and were crushed under their feet._

_With the ring now back in his possession, the Pretend Prince had no choice but to return to his waiting wife to be._

_With a heavy heart, he bid his new companion goodbye as the Honest Thief left for the docks to go across the sea with the Troll’s gold and the Pretend Prince’s seal for safe passage._

_But if The Honest Thief ever needed anything, the Pretend Prince promised he would find him…_

_And for once, the Honest Thief almost believed him._

 

“And…?”

Belle twitched her nose at her husband in annoyance as she absently finished the last of the roasted game on her plate. “That’s it,” she said shortly. “That’s the end of that one.”

“It’s not,” her husband complained. He was lounging comfortably in his magicked chair, staring up at the ceiling.

“Well, that’s all of it I know,” Belle humphed. “And I’ve read more than half the royal library.”

“That’s right, you did mention something or other about liking books,” her husband snickered.

She chose to ignore him, which was difficult, as her room did not have anything more interesting to distract her from her oddity of a husband. “I find myself growing tired,” Belle announced. She stood and went towards her bed. “I think I shall retire.”

“Oh?”

Belle realized the moment the soft syllable rang out that she had made a grievous error. It was remarkably easy to find her courage in the hearts of her childhood stories, the same ones that lulled him into a quiet child like listener. Yet as soon as the story ended, the Dark One resurfaced, darker and more frightening than before.

He pressed along the back of her, hands on her hips as he leaned forward to bury his head in her hair. “Wife of mine,” his breath tickled and she shivered in discomfort as it brushed the shell of her ear. “You spin a pretty tale and I will admit you have distracted me these past few evenings but you will not put me off forever.”

Bravery, Belle reminded herself with a desperation bordering on foolishness. Bravery.

So, she stood there, in his grasp, letting him take his fill of her without moving away from his tainted magic. She remembered the faces of the young girls in the castles, the milkmaids and their mothers hard at work in the field and even the bent crones who laughed at their memories in the sunlight.

For them, she could perhaps be brave.

“I do not know what you mean,” Belle lied as she tried to keep her breath even.

The claws on her hips tightened roughly and she let out of a cry of pain as they pierced the fabric and dug into her skin. “Do not lie to me,” her husband snarled into her hair. “I warn you, you won’t like the consequences, dearie!”

“I would never deny you your rights as husband,” Belle whimpered. The claws tightened again and the stench of his dark magic started to fill the air as it prepared to unleash itself upon her. “But how could you want me as I am? Fearful and filthy?”

For a moment, the claws remained lodged in her skin. Slowly, they released and she wobbled uncertainty. Her husband was back on the settee, regarding her as if she was some unfathomable puzzle. Belle met his gaze without shame. She had no chance of escaping the marriage bed with this monster but something in her fought against the idea she had to be powerless in it.

“Tis my gift to give,” she said evenly. “A virgin’s maiden head is a powerful spell ingredient, I’m told.”

“It’s not a paper weight,” the Dark One sneered at her. She flushed although whether in embarrassment or anger she could not say. “It’s the blood you spill, the innocence intact and the potential of life that makes a maiden’s virginity such a source of power.”

“I would willingly give it to you,” Belle offered. “If you only allow me the time I need to grieve.”

“Grieve?” he asked in bewilderment. “ Your people are safe, the ogres are pushed back and the land rejoices.” His eyes darkened as a suspicion entered his thoughts. “Do you grieve for a lost love? One denied to you when your father sold you to me to protect his own worthless hide?”

Seizing this, Belle nodded her head. “Yes, as you well know, I was betrothed and my heart is still his…”

“You lie prettily for a lady."

“And you delight in wielding the truth as a weapon,” Belle shot back. She shook her head back, brushing the wisps from her eyes. She settled down upon the bed, clasping her hands in her lap to prevent herself from placing it around her husband’s throat. “I could have loved him,” she admitted, more to herself than him. “I just never got the chance to find out.”

“Honesty is the best policy, dearie,” he lilted. He sprang off the settee to help himself to the matching goblet of wine he had just summoned. Belle watched him from under her lashes. It was a chore to keep up with her husband’s shifting moods.

“Belle,” she reminded him, emphasizing her name. If she had nothing else in this world now but a bed, a table and a settee, she would keep her name.

“What a silly name,” he said to the air.

“What’s yours then?” 

“Ah,” the creature giggled. “She wants to know my name.”

“She is your wife,” Belle reminded him sharply as she stood. “So yes, she would know her husband’s true name.”

“Careful,” he snapped. Belle almost fell backwards as his sharp, jagged teeth clicked tight right before her nose. She reached backwards to steady herself and once again, her husband had her gripped in his embrace. “A name is a powerful thing,” he growled at her as he pulled her closer to him. “So, I shall make you a deal.”

“What?” Belle whispered. His curls brushed her cheeks. She was surprised at their softness; she had expected them to be as brittle as scales.

“My name for your maidenhead,” he offered. “You will be the first bride to win that from me.”

With the mention of his former wives, Belle pushed him away from her but he stood fast and his grip only tightened on her forearms. “You’re a beast,” she hissed through her impending tears. “ _They were people_.”

“They were sheep,” he snarled back. “Each and every one of them chose the coward’s way out. Was I not kind enough to return them to their homes even though they nullified their contracts? Did I not show mercy on them and provide them with safety from the ogres and the worries of life? Could I do anything more to save them from themselves?”

He was shaking. 

“They were scared,” Belle reminded him, reaching one hand out to touch his cheek. “I’m scared.”

He recoiled from her as if burned. “You needn’t be,” he backed towards the door. “Death is peace.”

Belle looked on in silence as he disappeared beyond the door. For a moment, it stayed open as if daring her to go after him but then slowly it swung shut with a heavy sigh of displaced air. Belle’s eyes fell upon the candelabrum that still glowed brightly despite the hours it had spent aflame. She reached to dip her hand into the wax dripping down the middle candle, pulling her hand back in pain as it cooled and hardened on her skin.

Her husband had forgotten to take it with him again.

Or perhaps he had left it to chase away the ghosts that haunted them both.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, The Story Teller was nominated for best AU in the 2015 TEAS and I cried.
> 
> Sorry, I'm not a super cool author. I cried and clutched my phone to my chest and felt like the luckiest girl alive. So thank you readers who may have nominated me and thank you readers who are reading and reviewing and thank you for being here as I write this odd little story about a super Dark One and his imprisoned wife. 
> 
> I do not own the third episode of OuaT which I took extreme liberties with in this story. As many of you as well as the Dark One know, the Honest Thief is not a him at all. But Belle does not know that and she's the one telling the story.


	6. Cinderella

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Fourth Night

When her husband returned to her on the third night of their marriage, Belle barely noticed due to lack of sleep.

“Don’t get up on my account.”

She didn’t bother to look up from her lap where her dirt encrusted fingers remained buried in the fabric of her once pristine day dress. “Husband,” Belle greeted dully. “Evening already?”

“It would appear so,” her husband confirmed as he swept to her side. Clawed fingers found the soft skin of her chin and tilted her eyes upwards to his gaze. “Do you not see me before you?”

“One’s eyes can play tricks,” Belle replied. Her tired eyes drifted close as she fought her tiredness. “Especially when one’s husband is a sorcerer.”

He scoffed at that. His thumb drifted dangerously close to her lower lip. Belle let her sore eyes flutter shut. When he disappeared from her view, she felt nervous, on edge, unable to relax in case he suddenly appear and take from her whatever little she had left.  Now, with his oddly warm touch on her, she felt at last as if she might breath freely.

“Perhaps you are too ill to continue your little ploy?” His fingers found the soft pads of her lips. She attempted to twist her head away from him but he only gripped her chin tighter. “Ah, ah, careful dearie…”

Wearily opening her eyes, Belle found her husband staring down at her. However, his focus was worlds away. Belle raised her right hand to cup his hand upon her cheek. “I thought we struck a deal?”

His left hand rose up, one finger pointed at the ceiling in exclamation. “Only if you give it willingly,” her husband reminded her. “Now, if you are too tired for your little _stories?_ “

Sighing in frustrated exhaustion, Belle let her hand fall away from his. His quickly fell away as well, disappearing behind his back.  “Fine, husband,” she consented. “I’ll tell you a tale.“

“More about that Evil Queen you seem so fond of?“

“Oh no,” Belle said with a tight smile as she got to her feet. Moving for the first time in hours, her spine cracked audibly in the quiet of the room.  “I have a perfect story for tonight.”

“Well, get on with it,” he huffed. He sank into her now vacant spot upon the loveseat. “You haven’t got forever, you know!” He laughed a bit at this, wiggling his nose at his own stab at humor.

She ignored him. “It starts with an ending,” Belle began. “It starts with a deal.”

 

_Every little girl has her very own fairy godmother._

_Born from the chimes of the babe’s first laugh, a fairy godmother’s sole duty is to protect her charge from all the evils in this world._

_Sometimes illness takes both the fairy godmother and the babe. Sometimes cruelty and strife overpower the still young fairy godmother’s powers and the babe is lost._

_If a babe grows into a spoiled child, mean spirited and petty, her fairy godmother will wither away into nothing._

_But if the child is true of heart, kind and courageous, she shall not lose her fairy godmother no matter how hard the path before her. She will grown into womanhood and find her happily ever after, freeing her fairy to a life of helping others who may be in need._

_Our story begins with such a babe._

_Born to a loving couple, little Ella let out her first laugh mere minutes after she was first placed in her father’s arms. Unseen to the happy new family, her fairy godmother appeared in a shower of golden sparks as radiant as the sunshine._

_But here is where the tale of young Ella differs._

_For not moments later, a dark shape entered the room. Twisting through the shadows upon the floor and wall, the slithering shade moved with a languid grace. Before the newly born fairy could raise her magic wand in defense, she was devoured by the darkness._

_Leaving little Ella without her birthright._

_Years passed. Death came to first her mother and then her father. Destitute and alone, the girl became the sole servant of a wicked woman and her dreadful daughters who inherited her child house house._

_Soon, the lively and spirited child grew quiet and withdrawn. Exhausted from her duties of the house and discouraged from the abuse of her employers, Ella suffered to cling on to the courage and kindness in her heart._

_For all little girls knew that as long as they were pure of heart, their fairy godmothers would not abandon them to misery._

_More years passed._

_Ella became known as Cinderella, the hag of the hearth. Streaked with grime and soot, she walked with a limp from swollen ankles and always smelled of mice droppings._

_Soon, her heart grew too heavy for even misery to penetrate. Hope died away like the last ember in the fireplace._

_Her belief in fairytales and happily ever afters faded away as callouses developed on her finger and in her heart._

_No one was coming to save her._

_So, on the night of the Royal Ball, when her employers would disappear off to the castle for the evening, the woman known as Cinderella decided to save her own life._

_She had decided to go to the castle to find a job as washerwoman. Off, she went into the darkness of the unknown. As she neared the crossroad, a faint hissing startled her from her path._

_Before her, a golden snake curled in the middle of the crosswords. It’s head was raised high, black eyes glittering at her as it’s tail rattled ominously at her approach._

_A faint memory bloomed in the young woman, a dark shape from her childhood now solidified into reality._  
  
Here, the maid thought, here was her salvation after all.

“Not much of a story, is it?”

Twisting her lips, Belle made a soft noise of disagreement. “Not if you keep interrupting me,” she retorted, though she kept her eyes averted from his.

“Let me guess,” her husband cooed wickedly. “She makes a deal with this snake to attend the ball. There, she meets the Prince, falls in love and lives happily ever after?”

Sighing, Belle reached out for the last few slices of fowl from her dinner plate. They had stopped a bit earlier in the story for her to eat a bite or two but she still felt ravenous. “Perhaps,” she acquiesced. “But you simplify it.”

“What is there to simplify?” her husband snorted. He was still perched on the love seat arm with his fingers steepled before him. He threw one hand up. ”Girl’s life is wretched.” His other hand flew up to frame his face. “Girl uses magic to change it.”

With a flourish, he raised his hands out before him like laying a table. “Rather similar to your little life story.”

The truth of the statement was not lost to her. Of all the stories she knew, she once again had picked one of a magical savior of a young maid. Belle turned back to her goblet, away from her husband’s twisted smile. Perhaps she was being too melodramatic in her confinement.

“If your life is so wretched, change it,” came the unexpected comment. 

“How would you have me change my life, husband?” she pressed. She gestured at the room around them. “Magic has only caused me misery.“

“You cannot handle magic,” he sniffed haughtily. “Your father made that little deal. You were merely collateral.”

“You flatter me."

“Not really,” her husband sniped. “You are smell far fouler than the cow maids I have had the misfortune of marrying.”

“If my lord and husband provided me with water to bathe, then perhaps my odor would be less offensive to his senses,” Belle retorted heatedly.  “As it is, he fails in his duty to protect and care for his wife.”

“Careful,” he hissed with a raised finger. “You would be wise to show respect, dearie.”

“One who uses intimidation cannot know respect, merely fear,” Belle answered. “This farce of a marriage may not be my choosing but I can promise you this, husband. I will not walk across that threshold into death no matter how you ignore, belittle or abuse me. My filth is nothing compared to the rot in your soul.”

With a snarl of his foul teeth, her husband leapt from his precarious perch. Belle flinched despite her brave words but he thrust her aside. He strode past her into the center of the room. Pushing the sleeves of his crocodile skinned overcoat back to his elbows, almost as scaled as the jacket itself, he focused on the far corner where the cobwebs were deepest. With a flick of his wrist, as sharp as the butcher’s knifes on market day, her husband summoned into existence a door of dark smoke.

Belle shrank back against the stone wall, pressing against it until the cold of the stone pressed through her thin gown and into her skin. As the dark smoke curled tighter and faster, swirling rapidly as a rushing river, a powerful presence pressed against her in the small room. Lost in his own actions, the Dark One’s face twitched as if he was in an enchantment. His eyes glowed with the power, fingers perfectly straight though his arms were tensed with control.

Finally, the maroon smoke faded away, tendrils escaping into thin air, revealing a plain wooden door. Belle slowly looked to her husband, finding him grinning in self-congratulations. “There,” he growled. Turning from his handiwork, he strode towards her. Belle rapidly slid back down the wall to rise up on to the balls of her toes, tilting her chin as he neared her.

A maniacal look had stolen into her husband’s features, his eyes seemed bestial and his teeth were bared in a fanged grimace. Belle’s heart fluttered nervously. He noticed the throbbing at her throat. At his gaze, her heart grew more erratic, thumping against her chest as if it could escape her body through sheer force.

Her husband neared her now, standing before her and neatly trapping her from the rest of the room. He was not a large creature, barely two head’s taller than her but in the still lingering remnants of his magic, it seemed he loomed over her like the knights of her kingdom.

“…husband?” Belle exhaled. Her voice timid and shaking, but fear did not color the few syllables. Instead, curiosity tinged the simple word. If it surprised her husband, she could not tell but it surprised her.

“How does your little tale end, wife?” he asked in a growl. He dipped his head down so it was close to the top of her head, their foreheads close enough to touch. His breath, thick with the cloying drink from before, ghosted the curls from around her face. “With a wedding?”

“That’s not how it ends,” Belle murmured. Her eyes fluttered as she looked up from her lashes. “That’s only the beginning.”

He leaned closer at that and she stilled as his clawed hand came into her view. The familiar repulsion of the creature before her suddenly flared as she wrenched her gaze away from his intense eyes.  A rush of nerves flooded through her as if she had woken from a dream. He was still before her but he seemed to shrink back into his normal size. Belle's breath returned all at once as he turned away languidly to help himself to another glass of port.

“Is that so?” he trilled as he tapped his claws against his goblet. “Perhaps I’ll listen after all… “

With one last glance at the wooden door in the corner, Belle nodded absently and continued.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  The third night will continue next chapter- when Belle continues with her tale of Cinderella. 
> 
> But what is on the other side of the door?
> 
> Was Belle enchanted by the magic?
> 
> Does the Dark One have a toothbrush??
> 
> Burning questions folks. Burning questions.
> 
>  
> 
> As always, kudos make me blissfully happy, comments cause audible squeals of delight and bookmarks make me go- hmm, better go back and work on that!
> 
> Thanks to everyone who's reading along/new to the story!


	7. The Crystal Queen

_Queen Ella, first of her name, kept many secrets._

_First, it was out of fear that made her keep her secrets. Fear that if she confessed her sins, she would be thrown from the palace to once more don her rags at the hearth of another. Then, it was pride that kept her quiet. Soon, the vices of greed and desire took their place in her heart and stilled her tongue._

_Soon after the royal wedding bells died away, their lands had begun to wither and die. Nicknamed the Crystal Queen for her famous glass slippers, the once named Cinderella had looked out upon her failing kingdom and despaired. Her husband King escaped into the woods, leaving her to deal with the nobles’ demands and the peasants’ pleas._

_So, she did._

_For she knew she was the reason for their suffering. All because she had not paid the price of her deal._

_A child, the Crossroads Snake had demanded. For the magic she had begged of him, magic to attend the ball and find a way out of her hell- he had asked only one thing in return._

_Her first-born child._

_The hag of the hearths had accepted at once. She knew how easy it was to avoid such complications. If she married, it wouldn’t be for love._ _She had been confident of her choice until the second her eyes had fallen on the crown prince, noble and strong with curly hair and dark eyes. And when he had swept her in his arms for a dance, she had let herself believe for just a moment._

_Until the clock struck midnight and Ella remembered her deal._

_Fleeing from him, convinced love would lead to the thing she now feared more than anything, Ella attempted to escape her fate._

_The Crown Prince, famed for his hunting skills, had found her with ease. Despite her initial misgivings, they were married. She had spent every evening since then trying to dissuade him from their marriage bed in fear of losing all she had attained._

 

“How relatable.”

Belle paused to level a warning glance at her husband. He sat upon the loveseat he had conjured the night before drinking heavily from his glass. He ignored her, merely waving her ahead without lifting his eyes from his glass.

 

_All hope seemed lost as the Queen’s heart hardened…until the night of the Blue Moon._

_Once every five years, the moon disappeared and a strange glowing orb appeared in its place. This, known as the Blue Moon, was rumored to be the night when all wishes would come true, no matter how small the wisher was or how large their wish._

_This night, the King came to his wife with his wish in his heart. His wish for a heir shone so true in his heart, that upon the morning, the Queen had conceived._

_The Kingdom rejoiced at the news. The King ceased his hunting trips and threw himself into the world to rebuild his kingdom, visiting neighboring lands to secure loans and trade deals, strengthening bonds with nobility and the peasants alike and learning the ropes of kinghood._

_Only the Queen despaired._

_For only she knew of the deal that she had made once upon a time._

_A life for a life._

_It was not too long until he came to collect her debt. The Golden Snake of the crossroads appeared to her one night in the garden, winding himself about her glass encased feet and hissing his congratulations and a promise to come collect when the time came._

_Months passed._

_The Kingdom was flourishing. The King returned to his wife, full of love and hope, with every hope for the future. Queen Ella kept her secrets even then. How was she to tell her husband that his love had saved the kingdom but doomed their first born?_

A rather loud scoff stilled Belle’s narrative, allowing her to take a welcome sip of the wine in her glass. With a small sigh of her own, she glanced up at her husband who while displaying a bored air was leaning forward slightly as if to catch every word. Smothering the smirk that threatened to emerge, Belle lifted one eyebrow at him over her rim. “Why, husband, do you know this one as well?”

He glanced at her suspiciously before slowly leaning back until he was reclined languidly over the majority of the loveseat. “Not the way you tell it.”

“Then, let me tell it."

Her husband made a noise of disagreement but he didn’t say anything further. He simply raised his glass for her to continue.

 

_As the ninth month waned, Queen Ella waited in agony for the arrival of her child. The master’s claimed it was a boy, a promising heir to the kingdom. This brought her no joy._

_As her despair grew, the kingdom watched on with confusion and then disgust. The Crystal Queen, it was whispered, loathed her child, jealous of sharing her king and her power with even her own child._

_Secretly, Ella plotted, desperate to keep her hold on her kingdom and her family even as the odds mounted against her. Finally, it came to her and she rested easy for the first night since she had first felt the child stir in her womb._

_On the night of the Dark Moon on the month of the Snake, the Golden Serpent came to her to collect what would be his._

_However, he arrived before the child and was met with Ella, quill in hand._

_A new deal, she offered boldly, holding a paper and quill aloft._

_Hissing in interest, the golden shade crept closer, intrigued beside himself._

_Claiming she carried twins, she offered him both of the children in exchange for the guaranteed wealth and prosperity of the kingdom._

_Raising itself until it was level with her belly, the serpent rubbed itself along her gown, gleaming scales scratching against the fine fabric._

_With his forked tongue, the snake warned her that if she lied to him or attempted to trick him, her debt would grow but the Crystal Queen, too vain in her own cleverness, ignored him._

_And so he left her once more on the night of the Dark Moon, promising to return on the third moon’s waning to collect his price._

_So proud was she, so blissfully relieved in her scheme, the Queen did not wonder at the exactness of his promised return. She had won, she told herself as she brushed out her long straight tresses as her husband slumbered beside her._

_The hag of the hearths, Cinderella, had become the Crystal Queen and had outwitted the infamous Golden Serpent, guardian of the crossroads._

_If only she had known the secret of the Guardian, perhaps her fate could have been avoided._

_Instead, on the third moon’s waning, the kingdom awoke to the slow somber ringing of the bells._

_A miscarriage, the masters confirmed quietly to the heart broken King._

_A barren womb, the nobles whispered in the corridors._

_Killed by his mother in the womb, gossiped the peasants in the fields._

_Mere weeks later, the bells chimed again._

_A hunting accident, the masters shared, coughs rattling their wrinkled cheeks even as sickness spread throughout the castle._

_An assassination, the nobles feared, abandoning the castle for their own homesteads as armies from other lands marched to collect the debts owed them._

_Cursed, the peasant moaned in their huts as their land shriveled and died._

_Thus, the newly widowed Crystal Queen was cast from her throne and home and upon the cobblestones once more. Her glass slippers were all that was left to her as she limped down the road, once more with nothing more than the clothes on her back._

_No one ever saw or heard from the Crystal Queen again._

_But it is said, that a hag with mutilated feet, blood red scars tracing over the twisted arthritic toes, stands near the crossroads, offering a warning to desperate souls who would treat with the Golden Serpent._

 

“Let me guess, you think the villain of this little ditty is the Golden Serpent?”

Belle shook her head as she rubbed at her throat absently. “Not really,” she corrected as her eyes once more drifted over to the new door in her wall. Brown oaken slants and a brass knob made it similar and yet completely different from the other door in the room. Pulling her attention back to him, she cleared her throat. “Do you?”

A giggle erupted from his throat. It was high pitched and oddly joyless. It sent a shiver down her back as she met his eyes across the room. “My little wife,” he cooed, popping to his feet. “So clever. So brave.”

“You flatter me,” Belle repeated from their earlier conversation as she helped herself to her glass once more. Her throat felt oddly hot and scratchy. If she wasn’t careful, she would lose her voice before morning. Then, she would have little to distract her husband from his primary goal. She watched him from the corner of her eye, noting the way he fiddled with his clothing. Her husband was oddly attentive when it came to his attire. Belle turned her head, fixing him with the gaze she had seen Nan give the children countless times.“Though I doubt you mean to.”

A crocodile grin spread over his twisted features. “Perhaps,” he agreed slyly. “But then again, perhaps I do.” Another giggle escaped his lips as he bounced past her towards the door he had conjured earlier that evening. He gestured towards it as if it some new masterpiece, practically trembling in excitement as he widened his eyes at her in suspense. “Enough of this coyness! Come and see!”

Belle hung back. Over the course of her story, her eyes had often strayed to the door, mind churning and providing hundred of possibilities for what could lie beyond it. Certain death was the most likely answer, but her husband was not one to be so obvious. Far more likely, it led to something as simple as a water closet or a closet full of spiders or snakes.

Her husband did after all have a dark sense of humor.

Standing slowly, Belle made sure to lift her chin high, a brief stabbing memory of her late mother walking into the golden halls of her childhood flitted before her eyes. Faint as it was, Belle drew strength from it. Standing before the door, blue eyes fixed on the brass knob, Belle reached out one hand towards it. Her hand shook for a moment, but when she felt his eyes upon her, she stilled it. As her hand made contact with the cold metal, he watched her with a barely suppressed curiosity beyond the morbid glee he displayed.

“Tell me," she asked in a raspy voice, "why don’t you take what you want by force? Why put an entire kingdom through such suffering for a man thing’s whim?”

Golden eyes burned against her cheek and then ever so slightly his clawed hand descended upon hers where it rested upon the doorknob. “That would be telling,” he whispered as he pressed against her side. His left hand curved around her to rest on the small of her back before his right hand twisted over hers, pushing the door ajar.

Bracing herself for the push to her possible demise, Belle gave a faint gasp of dismay as her eyes snapped shut.

Death did not come to her then.

Instead, he spun her to the left and a warmth descended over her slack mouth to swallow her second gasp. Belle kept her eyes shut tighter against this alien feeling, even as her heart raced in a heady mixture of fear and something less recognizable.

As lady of her lands, Belle had led a fairly sheltered life. However, in a land where the handsome died young and the beautiful disappeared early, she had often stumbled upon the castle servants in flagrante delicto or the nobles tucked away in staircases, hands in each other’s garments, breath so loud they didn’t hear her footsteps until she was upon them. She had been curious in her own late puberty, exploring herself beneath the covers but fear had always been just as strong as her curiosity and as she had grown older, she simply waited for her marriage bed.

How darkly ironic that seemed to her now, as claws dug into her back, dragging downwards to clutch at her hip. The fabric of her dress rent and teared and she groaned as a tear slipped fear of her clenched lids. Instantly, he pressed against her harder, mistaking her groan as a sign of encouragement. Balling her fists tighter at her sides, Belle kept her back tense and straight. She allowed him to taste her but refused to let her body react.

Strangely, her body warmed where his hand now rested. There was a tightening in her lower abdomen and a flushing of her breast that disobeyed her will. When her shoulders dipped as his other hand raised up to tug at the cap sleeve, Belle twisted her face from his to bury it instead in his shoulder as she struggled to catch her breath. “No,” she whispered into his leather doublet. It was an odd sense of relief as it scratched against her now tender lips. Lords, he had been through in the mere seconds he had tasted her. Her lips were as raw as her throat now. “You take what is not offered.”

His hands fell away from her but he didn’t move away. He simply stood there with her face buried in his jacket. Belle opened her eyes to see the fine detailing of the stitching, the rich and well-oiled leather jerkin older than it appeared but obviously well maintained. She pulled her head back, tracing the detailing with her eyes, avoiding the odd awareness of his own heartbeat, much too like hers for her to feel comfortable.

“Every thing comes with a price, dearie,” he said so low she almost missed it despite being an inch away from him.

“I asked for nothing,” she rasped defensively as she twisted towards the now open door before them. Darkness lay before her and for a moment, she couldn’t make out much beyond the doorframe.

He raised his hand and his arm brushed against her own. He flicked his wrist and cocked his little finger up and over, emitting a burst of red sparks that soon illuminated the space before them. As she took in the view before her, Belle didn’t realize she had raised her hand to her chest in astonishment until he mimicked her pose.

“Like it, dearie?” he asked her in a clear imitation of her voice. The room contained a brass tub with high sides and clawed feet. Four people could comfortably bath in it. Beside it, a chamber pot and an ewer were perched on a stone partition with a grate below it. To the side, another door was ajar, this one smaller and made of what looked like ash. Inside, there were rows of familiar fabrics and patterns.

“My clothes?”

“Indeed,” he confirmed. He stepped over the threshold towards the objects in question. “I grew tired of your smell.”

Belle took a step forward, then hesitated briefly. She looked down at the line where the new stone met the old stone of her prison. “Is it-?“

“Safe?” His eyebrow arched up as he grinned at her. He held in his hand her favorite nightgown, red rose buds on a cream silk, high lace collar and dainty scalloped hem.

“Passable,” she corrected as she licked at her lips. That too was a mistake. She could still taste the port he had been drinking on them.

“It won’t kill you if that’s what you’re worried about,” he muttered, obviously displeased with her cowardice. “I don’t lie, poppet,” he continued when she failed to move from her spot.

“You omit,” Belle pointed out, still not moving.

With a sigh, he breezed past he. He threw the nightgown at her without breaking his stride. “It’s nearly dawn. Do try and get some sleep, dearie. I’ll be back before you know it.” Belle ignored him, grasping handfuls of the familiar fabric, still mercifully smelling like the soaps they used in her castle. The scents of lye and daisies filled her nose, almost as if Nan stood before her in her washing wear. “And dearie?”

A small sob started to bubble up from her chest as tears clouded her vision at the knowledge of just how much she had lost in this deal. She kept her eyes focused on the pattern of rosebuds, tears making her vision swim.

“Do drink some tea, we wouldn’t want you to lose your voice before tonight’s story. No telling what we’d have to do to keep ourselves occupied if you were unable to perform…”

With a click of the door, he was gone.

Dawn found Belle upon her knees, clutching a worn gown to her face as she sobbed into it as emotions overwhelmed her. Fear of her husband and his moods, resentment against her father and his weakness and self-hatred for her loss of control poured out in a steady stream of hiccups and gasping sobs.

She did not care if he heard.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You clever things! 
> 
> Yes, it was a water closet. 
> 
> But all magic comes with a price, dearies.


	8. The Cricket

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eighth Night

He did not come to her on their fifth night of marriage.

Nor did he come on the sixth night.

On the seventh night, Belle stood before the door with her hand on the handle. The dinner plates had arrived thrice now, but her husband had not appeared to her since he had taken a kiss from her in payment for the water closet. For hours, she stood, clad only in her nightgown, internally debating if she was brave enough.

On the eighth night, Belle awoke from her fitful slumber, damp with sweat from the nightmares that had chased her through the day. Gasping for breath, she lifted a shaking hand to her brow, startled at a unfamiliar weight upon it.

A delicate golden ring had been placed upon her ring finger. Golden filigree work traced the band, lines overlapping each other to build into a thicker band. The torches and candelabra winked slowly to life as the magic in the castle noticed she had awoken. The diamond sparkled to life, red and oranges glowing in the depths before cool blues swirled through it.

She did not take her eyes from it as she pushed the blanket from her. Swinging her feet to the cold floor, she did not hesitate as she strode towards the cursed door. Fear of death still lingered at the edges of her mind as she pulled it open. ”Husband, a word!”

“No need to shout,” came the amused reply from just behind her. Knowing he would be simpering wickedly at her from his usual chair, Belle took her time shutting the door, careful to not put so much as a finger beyond it.

Holding her hand up to the candlelight, Belle offered it to him. He simply stared so Belle moved closer. He was puzzled, she could tell in the way he did not take her hand immediately, and the way his shoulders tensed when she neared him. Belle felt a thrill at this, wondering if some thing had changed in the nights he had been away.

“Come now,” she said, her hand hovering just before him. “Take my hand.”

“What is this now? Don’t tell me you’ve become amenable,” he quipped. Yet, his scaled hand rose up, steady as he took her smaller hand in his. When he was gripping it lightly, almost as if might break beneath him, Belle smiled as she kneeled down until she was eye level with him.

“A gift?” she asked him, wiggling her ring finger in his loose grip. “At what cost?”

“Nothing,” he grumbled. He released her hand as if it burned him. “A simple token of ownership that I found in my things.” He grinned at her, an ugly grimace of broken rotted teeth and ill intent.

Belle ignored it. “I have nothing to give you in return,” she replied as if he had not spoken terrible words. She smiled. “Perhaps a story?”

“I’ve had enough of your fables, wife,” he scoffed. He leaned forward until their noses were inches away. “Perhaps this gift reminds you of your still unfulfilled wifely duties?”

As if some outside force moved her hand, Belle brushed the curls from his forehead. He lurched away, staring wide-eyed at her as his chest heaved under his rapid breathing. “May I tell you a story tonight instead, husband?”

“Perhaps I should leave you to yourself more often,” he retorted, trying once more for a threatening leer. “You seem so much more acceptable to my company after a good four days alone.”

“Three,” she reminded him with an involuntary shudder. The days had been long and boring, with nothing more to do than to go through her clothes, the smell of home still lingering in the fabrics as memories leaked out of the pockets and petticoats. “There’s no need to frighten me. We’re stuck with each other, you know.”

The tableau they made, her crouched down before the couch as he leaned back away from her tender touch was an interesting one, almost directly opposite the nights he had reached for her as she avoided his cruel grasp.

“I have things to attend to,” he finally ground out. Belle nodded before she stood to move to the side. He pulled down his jerkin as he walked pointedly towards the cursed door. She waited quietly, eyes locked on his fleeing back as she mentally debated the wisdom of her course of action. “I’ll be back in the hour.”

The nightmares were growing darker in her solitude. Her father’s blood running across the hall, her mother’s death cries echoing in her ears and the corpses of brides reaching for her across the distance of time. Her husband’s ring upon her finger had been more comforting than Belle could confess to herself. It was a promise of the deal she had cemented to keep her people safe, a reminder that she was to be the last of the brides. At least until death took her as it did all mortals.

“Husband?”

He stilled, but did not turn around.

“Have others worn this ring?”

“Just the one,” came his surprising answer and then he disappeared. The door thudded shut behind him.

 

_There once lived a man and his wife. They were not particularly interesting nor were they very good. Indeed, they were like magpies, drawn by the shiny possessions of others with nothing in their hearts but greed._

_This pair of thieves soon had a son. He was born to them under the North Star, born quiet as the grave. His mother refused to hold him, his red hair and silent stare notable omens of ill fortune. His father however thought him perhaps of some use in the future and decided to ignore his wife’s wishes and keep the babe._

_This boy grew, somehow. No one, much less himself could tell how he survived into a child of seven. Small and quick, his parents called him Hop, and used him to further their greed. With little fingers, he would pluck purses from crowds, reach into pockets for the spare change, and even on occasion able to unpin jeweled buckles from nobles shoes._

_Not a word escaped from his mouth all the while. His only pleasure in life was to sit beneath the night sky and watch the stars. He would sit there underneath the diamonds of the heavens and wished, wished, wished with all his might._

_None of his wishes ever came true. He remained a small, mute, red haired thief with parents who considered him more a servant than son and no home to call his own. And so, Hop grew into a man._

_It was one year, when he had given up all hope of wishing, that he met the King of Thieves. A magical, mystical figure that the town people whispered about, the nobles feared and the thieves paid tribute to, he appeared quite unexpectedly one evening before the dumbstruck Hop. Dressed all in leathers and scales, feathers quivering at his neck, he was an alarming sight and poor Hop was quite overcome._

_Hop’s parents it had seemed had decided they should no longer pay tithe to a King, plotting instead to use Hop’s quiet, quick talents to establish their own empire of thieves in the kingdom. When word reached the King of Thieves, he had quickly come to exact his revenge._

_However, the King was quick and shrewd, and he knew what was in Hop’s hearts of hearts, and plucked from the air, a potion. Instructing the man to give it to his parents, he promised all of his wishes would come true. In return, the King demanded only the remains of his parents, a warning to all other thieves of the power of their King._

_And for the first time in life, Hop had hope. So, he agreed._

_One should know to never trust the King of Thieves, but poor Hop did not know this._

_As the dawn broke, Hop returned to his parents, clutching in his hand the vial and in heart a secret wish. They greeted him warmly, having worried that in the night he had escaped from them. They had spent a restless night with the possibility of not having their source of income and forced to rely on their quick talking._

_Greeted in such a manner, Hop was taken aback, wondering if his wish had come true after all. He placed his potion in his pocket and forgot all about it in the warmth of the appreciation and joy with which his parents welcomed him back._

_That night, they arrived at a small town at the edge of the Kingdom. Hop, finding the town inviting and prosperous, thought happily of settling down here but his parents had other ideas._

_They found a cottage at the edge of town, lived in by a beautiful and kind woman and her brave and true husband. Begging for a warm hearth to lay their bones for the evening, they were invited in by the couple._

_They were everything Hop had ever wanted in a family. The wife, glorious as the moon, fed him home cooked stew and fluffed his pillow as if he was her own son. Her husband patted his back and looked at him in admiration as Hop helped him keep the fire roaring._

_His parents however soon fell back into their own tricks. Hop was horrified when they plucked one of their “tonics” from their satchels, telling the young pair of the horrible plague that was coming from the west. It was the very potion meant for them by the King of Thieves._

_Hop, unable to warn the couple, as his tongue swelled and twisted in his mouth watched in dread as the couple took the vile. Before he could stop them, they had both drank deep. And when they had finished, the lovely couple began to shrink and twist. The empty potion bottle dropped from their hands, shattering at Hop’s feet as he and his parents watched in horrified fascination._

_Before them now, sat two puppets, a perfect representation of the beautiful young couple._

_Hop’s parents turned and fled, recognizing the magic of the King of Thieves and the fate that had been meant for them._

_There, in the small cottage as the fire began to die and Hop stood immobile before the puppets, came the King of Thieves. He smiled his crocodile grin and he plucked up the puppets from the straw covered floor. Poor Hop simply stuttered and sputtered as he tried to speak but the King simply laughed, disappearing with his prizes in smoke and fire._

_For, he had not cared to truly punish the silly duo of Hop’s parents. He knew their kind well and found amusement in their evil doings. Hop, though, Hop had a good and pure heart and the King of Thieves wanted no tribute from such a heart. Instead, he had twisted his promises and wishes, leaving the mute man broken and cursed and utterly alone._

_As the night passed, Hop stayed alone, crying and crying over his offenses. He wished and wished and wished with all of his broken heart._

_In the morning, there was no longer a man named Hop. In his grief and guilt, he had shrunk and twisted until he was a cricket, chirping his warnings and grief in the dusk to anyone who would listen._

“The End.” Belle clasped her hands in her lap and looked demurely over at her husband.

He sat sprawled on his side of the loveseat he had conjured for her stories, positively bored. “That’s a depressing story,” he groused with a flick at her shoulder with one of his long clawed fingers. “Everyone knows magic comes with a price. What did he expect?”

Belle reached for the wine goblet that had become as customary to stories as her husband's company. “That’s the point,” she said. “He wished and wished instead of doing something about it.”

“Your stories have an awful lot of wishes,” her husband remarked. “Tell me, wife, what do you wish for?”

The quiet of her rooms, broken by the sound of her stories, fell back into place as Belle contemplated this question. Her hair, washed for the first time since her marriage still smelled faintly of rose oils and lavender. She touched the curls at her neck absently, startled only slightly when he husband leaned forward to bury his own fingers into them. Her husband was a powerful, frightening murderous creature and she still feared the way he looked at her, hungry and ravenous and full of wanting.

Belle resisted the urge to lean away. Instead, she sat ramrod straight and allowed him to play with her hair as she stared towards the cursed door. “I wish for nothing more than the safety of my people.”

“Liar,” he whispered as he grew closer. Now, his talons ghosted over her neck, stopping ever so lightly upon her pulse point as his lips hovered just over the shell of ear. “Tell me wife, what wish is in your heart at this moment? Is it for your freedom?”

The thought that came to mind surprised Belle into confessing it. “I wish to be brave.”

He stilled on her skin, before he pulled back. He jerked to his feet to pace as he growled and gnashed his teeth. He seemed to grow larger, skin glowing as the lights flickered and the wine bottle wobbled treacherously on the table. Under his breath he was muttering darkly, the words whipped away or lost before she could hear them.

Belle’s heart beat as if vibrating in her chest and her blood pounded in her ears as she shrank away from his rage. The sickening fume of magic seemed to press against her skin, pressing tendrils across her cheeks and tickling the underside of her wrist as her husband ranted and raved at himself, her, and the entire world in the small dungeon room of his castle.

How she found her feet, she did not know but for the second time that night, she took his hand in hers despite the fear and disgust at his touch. He wrenched her arm upwards. "The absence of fear is not bravery,” he snarled at her. 

Belle whimpered as he bent her wrist backwards but she stood firm as her eyes filled with tears. In her mind, she wore all white and she was pale as the moon. Her eyes were closed and her hands clasped over her still stomach as her father kneeled by her side. His hands clutching at her lifeless body as he sobbed. “You think I’m not afraid?” She shook her head as the tears began to slip down her own cheeks. “You think my father selling me to you, without a goodbye to the people I love is something I’ve come to accept?” Belle raised her head, refusing to look away from the glaring eyes. She matched him in intensity as she unleashed her fears into his keeping. “I fear you more than death himself but I will not be cowed into death by you. You have made a deal, sir,” she reminded him hotly. “To take a wife for the safety of my kingdom. You are my husband and I am your wife. If you wish to be rid of me, you should never have made this cursed deal in the first place.”

The hand around her wrist released. The magic maelstrom that had been emanating from him died down as the lights flared back to life and her skirts calmed around her ankles. “I tell you stories, husband,” she continued quietly. “To remind myself to be brave and in hopes I may learn to love you instead of fear you. Will you not let me try?”

“I’m not an easy man to love,” he said bitterly, but his fingers had found the golden band on her hand and he began to spin it around her finger. Belle knew this moment was as fragile as newly spun glass. Her husband had many moods, and this new quiet one did not scare her the same way his rage scared her. Instead, this one scared her like the day she had flowered. A change that meant nothing would ever be the same.

“Then, perhaps to just accept you,” Belle said gently. “Would you allow me at least the chance to know you?”

“What of our union?” he asked. Their hips bumped against each other. Belle's cheeks flamed hot but she did not move back. Instead, she wrapped her arms around his small but solid frame. His muscles tensed as her hands fluttered lightly across his back. He did not pull away as his hands stayed immobile at his side and it seemed he was rendered somewhat speechless.

“In time,” she said, placing her head upon his chest so he could not see her face. “In time.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading, hope you enjoyed and as always comments are welcome.


	9. A Tale of Two Brothers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ninth Night

_In a kingdom by the bay, there once lived two twin brothers. Born the year the harvest had failed and the sheep in the field were scrawny and sickly, the young shepherd and his wife despaired, knowing that only one twin would likely survive the winter._

_As it just so happened, the King and his Queen of this land were in want of a son and heir. When their royal advisor heard tell about the family at the edge of the woods who had borne twins, he came up with a plan. He arrived at the struggling farm to barter for the eldest born. Using the young couple’s own love for their children and their fears against them, the royal advisor swayed them to give up their eldest son to save them both. Despite their misgivings, the young couple knew a life as a prince would be more than they could ever offer either of their children. The royal advisor returned to his King and Queen with a prince and the whole kingdom, save the man and woman in their glen, celebrated._

_The brothers grew up as strangers, unaware of the other’s existence and forced to live their lives as two separate halves of one whole. The Prince was christened James, raised as all crown princes are. Tutors and trainers, mentors and advisors crowded him and molded him into the hero he was destined to be. He grew into a bold and brave knight, cunning and wise, as he was handsome._

_His brother left in the glen grew just as strong but it was from hours in the field herding sheep or out in the field towing the crops. Named David after his late father, he loved the farm and the animals for which he cared. He was quick and clever, good and true and devoted to his duties and his mother._

_Neither knew of the other, and so they grew into men._

_Just as faeries sprinkle dust and trolls live under bridges, men are expected to marry. In the next land, there was a castle of gold and splendor and there lived a very beautiful princess. This princess was treasured beyond any fortune with hair like spun gold, eyes as clear as aquamarine and heart as cold as the diamonds around her neck. However, gold and beauty had drawn a deadly dragon to the kingdom that ravaged the land. The King of this kingdom, desperate for respite, promised his lands and daughter to the knight who could rescue them from their devastation._

_Prince James went to his father to declare his intentions to defeat the monster and take the fair maid as wife. The King refused him. The Kingdom was in need of an heir and they could not risk the kingdom for the chance of riches and glory. Angry at this refusal, the Prince James left the castle in the middle of the night, alone with only his sword and shield to defeat the dragon and win hand of the fair maiden._

_The King despaired when he realized his son had disobeyed him. With no other heir, the kingdom would fall to ruin and war. It was at this moment where hope was lowest the royal advisor shared the secret of James’ heritage._  
_Telling the King there was another, he counseled the twin be brought to court and taught the ways of the nobility. If James succeeded, the other would be sent back to his farm with as much gold as he could carry. If James failed to slay the dragon, the kingdom would not perish into war and despair._

_Meanwhile, on the farm in the glen, David too faced the bonds of marriage. His mother, silver haired and face lined as a crone, wished to see him married before her death. With no money or hope for the farm’s survival, the young man resisted this idea, hesitant to provide for another. Although he loved a maiden fair with hair as black as a ravens, lips as red as blood and skin as white as snow, he had no means to support a wife or family._

_When the royal advisor arrived with his deal, the young shepherd was torn between his love of home and the promise of fortune. He said goodbye to the farm, his mother and his love and went to the castle. His hair was cut and washed, face shaved and the opulent clothes of a prince were draped over his shoulder as a crown was placed on his brow._

_The pretend prince wandered the halls of the castle, learning of a brother he had never known existed. People whispered. Their beloved prince was no longer loud and confident, but quiet and curious. He watched the knights at practice instead of besting them and sat in on the advisors counsels instead of avoiding them. He would sneak down to the stables to spend time with the horses but not ride them or sit in the kitchen to watch the daily bread baked without poaching pastries from the baskets._

_No word from the mountains arrived._

_All the while, the royal advisor whispered to the shepherd, telling him the names and the secrets of those around him, preparing him for the worst. After four months passed, the King gave up all hope of his son returning and called the younger twin before him._

_The man came to his King as tall and proud as his twin had been. Knowing that if his brother was truly dead, so then would die the shepherd boy from the glen, he declared his intentions to go to the mountains to find the brother had never met.. Cursing him for a fool, the King gave him a golden sword to remind the man he was simply for show before ordering him back to his rooms._

_Yet, the love David bore for his home, his mother and the maiden he loved drove him to desperation. That very night the boy from the glen rode forth from the castle with a host of knights to find the winged beast who had ruined so many lives._

_They traveled many miles through forest and river, hill and valleys until they reached the Kingdom’s mountainous border. All was desolate rock, burned and charred with ash and the smell of hell burning in their mouths. There was smoke hanging in the air like fog. They went up the tallest peak, spiraling into the snowy wasteland littered with ruins of wagons and corpses of horses and knights warped and twisted beyond recognition._

_Near the top of the mountain, the sound of death came from overhead. A dragon of black jet and burning fire descended from the crest of the mountain, screeching as his talons tore through the bewildered host. All was madness as the pretend prince tried to rally his men. Screams and the smell of burnt flesh overtook them all as the dragon dove and snapped, roared and spewed flames as he defended his dominion._

_The knights scattered, some fleeing back down the mountain while others tried to slash the underbelly of the great beast, all failing in the chaos of the slaughter. Only the young shepherd kept his distance, watching the beast as he tried to draw men to safety in a crack of the rocks._

_As if sensing a worthy adversary, the dragon turned its attention to this group, breathing fire madly as it scratched at the rocks heedlessly. The men and their pretend prince were safe around the bend of the great rock, although they dripped with sweat and fear._

_Taking his golden sword, a mockery to remind him he was simply gilded and not true steel, David, shepherd of the glen and pretend prince, called out to the dragon from around the bend. Sensing his rival, the dragon stuck his head into the crevice, his long scaled neck allowing him to bend around the corner to open his jaws and take the life of the creatures hiding there._

_He did not get his chance. As soon as his head had twisted around the bend, the pretend prince cut it off with a single stroke of his golden sword. The great beast fell to the snow, twitching as the men watched in reverence as the pretend prince picked the head of the creature up as proof of his triumph._

_The few survivors found the corpse of their own true prince in the dragon’s den, buried under gold and jewels. His younger brother bent down beside him and stayed clutching the gauntleted hand until night came. The two had never met in life and destined to be ever entwined from one’s death. The decision had been made. Although the dragon had defeated Prince James, it was David who truly died in the cave on the mountain._

_As the reward for saving the neighboring kingdom, Prince James won the hand of the fair Princess and combined the two kingdoms’ lands and riches. Under their reign, ushered in a long and prosperous age for the two kingdoms and mutual prosperity and a strong union gave the people hope and joy. Sometimes though on cold nights, men see their king standing at the top of the tower, staring out at his elongated shadow on the snow covered mountains under the moonlight as if he were greeting a ghost._

 

Finishing, Belle turned to her husband with a curious tilt of her head to gather his thoughts about the evening’s tale.Nan had once told her it had been one of her father’s favorite as a child. The ideas of duty and honor to others had always resounded with the young man who was destined to be lord of his lands. Tonight, it had been told to a creature that used both to twist people into his own bidding.

He crinkled his nose at her. “Don’t you know any happy stories?”

Belle couldn’t help it. She began to laugh.

He scowled at her, as he grumbled, “I fail to see what is so amusing.”

“You,” Belle exhaled as her hand went to her breast to catch her breath. “Of all people to ask such a thing.”

It was late this evening. The tale had taken longer than most due to her husband’s continual asides throughout the narrative and the candles were almost completely gone. Belle sat in the loveseat while her husband had taken to the bed. He lay out across it with his face turned towards the ceiling as he brooded at her outburst. “I’m going away,” he told her. The surprising statement broke the silence that had begun to stretch between them.

“You were just away,” Belle reminded him with a frown. She did not care for his company most nights but it was better than the still silence of her own thoughts in this prison cell. When she told him stories, she forgot he was the Dark One and the ghosts of the brides before her left them alone just long enough to enjoy the tales.

He twisted his head to regard her, his curls sprayed across her scrawny blanket. His booted foot was crossed over his other bent leg, jutting out oddly over the bed. It tapped and moved as if listening to a beat she could not hear. “Well, yes,” he said slowly as if talking to a small child. “I do have other things to do than sit at home with my wife.”

Belle pursed her lips at him, indicating her disapproval while still acknowledging the attempt at a joke. “How long will you be away?” Belle asked him, making an effort to keep his eye.

It was no secret he scared her. She had admitted it to him here just the night before and yet then he had been almost scared of her. He had nearly bolted from the rooms when she had released him from her grip and this evening he had been later than usual in returning to her room. No mentions of her wifely duty had dropped from his lips this evening and Belle wondered if it was the act of coupling itself he enjoyed or the fear.

“Two nights and three days,” he answered after some calculation.

Belle stood to place her empty wine glass on the table, lingering as to not let him see her reaction. She felt him behind her without hearing his movement and she reminded herself to relax against him as his arms slipped around her middle. “Wife,” he whispered into the hair at the back of her neck. “Will you miss me?”

“No,” Belle said truthfully as her ringed finger traced the lines of his wrist. He was wearing just a plain shirt today, as if he had forgotten to don his usual scales and armored leathers. “I’ll just be lonely.”

“Is that not the same as missing someone?”

Belle paused to think. “I miss my mother,” Belle told him as she stood motionless in his arms. “Even when surrounded by people. I miss my father here in this room just like I miss the sun and sky, but when you’re gone, I’m just…alone.”

“Ah,” her husband murmured but his hands loosened as dropped away from her. He did not move though and Belle turned to face him, their chests barely inches apart as she regarded his odd face in the near darkness of her chambers.

“No lies,” Belle reminded him as her fingers curled into the folds of her full skirt. She had opted to just wear a petticoat instead of the traditional hoop and bustle and the gown hung limply over her as if it too had given up on pretending. “Remember?”

He tried to cover his uncertainty with a crazed giggle, shrugging his shoulders rapidly as he moved back towards the bed. Belle followed, memorized as she realized her husband had a terrible time keeping his thoughts off his face. “You aren’t at all what I thought you were,” Belle told him as he twisted away from her towards the water closet. He held up a long finger and opened his mouth with a witty grin but Belle beat him to it, her finger resting on his lips to silence him as she smiled up at him. “I’m glad.”

His mouth, still slightly open from where he had been about to speak, trembled beneath her touch for a moment. Then, as if to prove both of them wrong, her husband nipped her finger, teeth burying into the flesh of the pad of her index finger as Belle snatched it away.

His teeth had broken the skin, a small ragged cut at the very base of finger stung as Belle cradled it to her own mouth to try and suck the pain away. He watched her, eyes glittering madly as he grabbed for it, bringing it back up to his mouth. Belle resisted him for a moment, fear giving her more strength than she believed she possessed.

He still managed to drag her hand to his mouth, and Belle whimpered as she closed her eyes though she continued to struggle to tear her hand from his grip. However, he only pressed a chase kiss to her palm. At the soft contact, Belle stilled, mouth falling open as her husband pressed his mouth to the heel of her hand and then the tips of her fingertips. Finally, he reached the still bleeding wound and he licked it, curious and languid before pressing another soft, this time open-mouthed kiss to it before releasing her hand back to her.

“You hurt me,” Belle accused him, cradling her hand against her chest.

“You provoked the beast,” he told her rationally. “I am not a pet of yours to be tamed, my lady.”

“Belle,” she reminded him, although she made no move to touch him. “My name is Belle.”

“It’s late,” he said finally. “And I have to be away before morning. I suppose a kiss goodbye is out of the question?”

She turned her back to him, holding her head as proud as she could as she made her way towards the water closet to rinse off the feel of his kiss on her skin. She did not hear the door close but she thought perhaps that was for the best.

\--

Breakfast and lunch came as usual that day but Belle did not touch them. She lay awake in her bed and counted the stones until her eyes crossed. Then, she started listing the names of the men, women and children she had saved from the ogres, calling up blurry faces and vague memories to keep her company in the candle lit room.

“So you’re the bride-of-the-moment,” came a startling voice from the table. Belle bolted upright, finding a fevered looking man, eyes wide and red rimmed eating her lunch as if he had been there this whole time. “I thought you’d be plainer.”

“Who-?“ Belle stammered as she gripped the blanket more firmly to her chest. “Who are-?”

“Who am I?” he finished helpfully with a sly grin. “Why, I’m your entertainment for the evening, my lady.” He stood, doffing the odd lump shaped hat from his brow as he bowed low to her. “Jefferson, the Mad Hatter, at your service, my lady,” he said majestically, eyes bright and glazed as if with fever. “I’m here to play while your husband is away!”

There were few things that made any sense since the moment she had laid eyes on the Dark One and had become his bride, but as she stared in disbelief at the stranger in her room, the only thing Belle could think to say was, “Oh, dear…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And with the ninth chapter, we get the twisted telling of The Shepherd. This one was rather fun to play with as there were hints of the Prince and the Pauper in OuaT but here I played a few more of them up. In a call back to chapter five, this story too has a pretend prince but Belle is not aware that it's the same prince and thus two different tales. As you may have noticed, this one has been twisted over the years into a duty over love fable and it shows in the ending. 
> 
> Oh, yes and Jefferson has arrived to spice things up. As the next episode wold have been Desperate Souls and we've already had our retelling of the Dark One's origins, the next chapter will be more something else entirely in Rumple's absence. 
> 
> Thank you for reading!


	10. The Hunter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tenth Night

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Long time, no update! Let's fix that, shall we?

The room felt smaller with Jefferson in it.

Belle, of course, knew that was ridiculous but she couldn’t help double check the stones in the ceiling, by now she knew the number by heart. Jefferson, for his part, watched her as intently as one might a masterful minstrel.

Feeling discombobulated, Belle slowly slid her feet off her cot until the bare skin of her heels hit the cold stone floor. Jefferson kept his eyes on her face, which despite her appreciation for her modesty being just in her nightgown, Belle still found his intense gaze highly uncomfortable.

“It’s polite to give your name in return,” Jefferson pointed out, sweeping his hat back into place. It made his entire head look large and lumpy, casting his already deep set eyes into shadow. “Didn’t anyone ever teach you that?”

She supposed it was too much to hope for that her husband would have any less than insane acquaintances. Still, he had chosen this particular one and Belle had little doubt that no one but those who her husband allowed would be able to access her quarters. Judging by his particular oddities, Belle came to the rather logical conclusion that this man before her, while clearly not in his right mind, probably offered little danger to her.

Belle drew her blanket neatly around her shoulders. “A gentleman does not enter a room without permission,” she reminded Jefferson. “Yet, here you sit.”

Jefferson stared back at her for a moment before standing up so abruptly, he knocked over the lunch plate. It clattered and crashed to the floor. Belle jerked her feet up to protect her ankles from flying shards, but Jefferson barely noticed the mess. He bent completely in half in a mechanic bow, sweeping his hat off once again. “My sincerest apologies,” he said in a voice muffled by his cravat. In this odd position, he remained as Belle stared confusedly at the top of his head.

“You’re excused,” Belle said finally. The madman straightened suddenly, plopping back down into his abandoned chair as he grinned in what he believed was a winning manner. Instead, it came across as a rather gruesome grimace, his entire face looking strained and stunted in the candle light. “I’m Belle,” she finally replied, tucking her hair behind her ear.

“Ah, a fitting name for a beauty,” Jefferson replied whimsically. “Ole Dragonhide has done rather well for himself this time. The last one was ghastly.”

“You are talking about a person,” Belle replied before she could stop herself. “A heroic soul who sacrificed herself to save the lives of strangers. You shouldn’t talk ill of the dead.”

Jefferson looked wounded as he doffed his cap to cover his heart. His hair stood out at all ends, static electricity practically bouncing from curl to curl. “My lady Belle,” he whimpered. “She hit me!” He pointed to a rather noticeable scar over his left eyebrow. “Kept screaming ‘Scoundrel! Rogue!’”

Belle remembered the last year’s bride vaguely, as more of an idea than a person and shame flooded her. Trying to remain confident and in control, she shot him a disapproving look. “And what were you doing, Mr. Hatter, sir?”

“Jefferson, please,” he corrected with a twitch of his eye. Belle wondered if he was quite okay, before she realized that had been intended as a wink. “All I was doing was what Dragonhide himself asked, watch over her while he was away. That one was a bit not right in the head. Barely lasted two months before she crossed over.”

“Jefferson,” Belle scolded, and he crammed his hat back on his head with a shrug.

“I’m only telling you the way of it,” he grumbled. “Kept trying to get me to get her out the door,” he pointed at it. “And you know why that’s not allowed.”

Belle did not look at it. She knew full well how many souls before her had died, two hundred women had crossed that threshold if her husband was to be believed.

“I have no intention of trying to escape,” Belle told him with a sigh. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’d like to use the…”

She trailed off here, as a lady did not explain her own private business. Jefferson however brightened, standing up to offer her his hand. Belle stared at it, moving her eyes up to his sweat soaked face, the white skin and high blush making him look like one of those odd porcelain dolls the royal court had sometimes sent to her as gifts. She had always found them more unnerving than enjoyable with their sad flat eyes and their pale lifeless cheeks.

“Alone,” Belle clarified, but she took his hand and allowed him to draw her to her feet. He was surprisingly gentle, letting his fingers curl around her wrist, lifting her as effortlessly as air. For the first time, Belle began to believe that perhaps this man was not as fearful as his erratic behavior suggested.

“Of course, I realize that,” Jefferson laughed uncertainly. “I did have a wife, you know. And a daughter too.”

It was the way he said it that made her cover his hand with her own without a thought on why she shouldn’t. Something about his humorous self deprecation of his knowledge of women perhaps, but there was also an unmistakable sense of pride, devotion and loss in his words.

“Jefferson,” Belle began. “I’d like to clean up first but perhaps you can join me for dinner?”

He giggled, but quickly slapped his free hand over his mouth as if he was horrified at himself. Belle stepped backwards, breaking apart from him as he shuffled his foot on the stone, dropping his hand as his face cracked into an abashed but mischievous smile.

“Don’t think Dragonhide would like that,” he told her. “Just wanted me to pop in on you from time to time. He’s not the sharing sort.”

Belle frowned. She had come to accept this farce of a marriage, somehow finding bravery as she went but with her husband gone she felt more like herself than she had this entire past week. The man before her, while clearly mad as he claimed to be, seemed as much as need of companionship as she did. Then there was some deep dark small part of her reveled in the idea of going against her husband’s wishes, especially when it came to entertaining another in his place.

“Nonsense,” she said, tilting her chin. “I’ll expect you back in the hour.”

She swept to the water closet, but when she turned to the close the door behind her, Jefferson had already vanished.

\--

Dinner was an odd affair.

Jefferson returned on the dot, stuffing a large pocket watch into his jacket pocket as he dusted himself off. It was the way he arrived that set the tone for the evening. One instant, Belle was completely alone, reading in her chair and the next, Jefferson sat in her husband’s usual seat, grinning like a cat who had gotten the canary.

With him, the food arrived. Opting to ignore his odd way of coming and going, Belle handed Jefferson a plate, poured them ample glasses of wine from the customary decanter and settled down to eat. The unusual silence of dinner meant she finished quickly, and Belle realized when she was done, that it was the first time she had eaten today.

Jefferson ate his quickly as well, frowning down at his plate when he realized he was finished. Before Belle could collect his plate, he turned it upside down and began to lick the surface eagerly, making appreciative little noises as he went.

Belle simply sat there, her own plate in her lap as she watched wide-eyed. When he finished, he turned to her with an odd lopsided grin, grease smeared all over his chin and the tip of his nose. “Didn’t you like it?” He demanded, pointing to her plate. “I made it myself!”

“Oh, no,” she hurried to reassure him. “It was delicious.” A new thought occurred to her. “Might I ask, are you the usual chef?”

Jefferson barked out a short, high pitched laugh which ended just as suddenly as it began. He shook his head, his hat nearly falling off before he caught it and pressed it down harder on his head. “Castle only feeds residents. And I don’t live here, just visit from time to time,” he told her. “So, if I want to eat, it’s my treat!”

“Oh,” Belle said dumbly. “Maybe if I ask it to…”

She actually had no idea what the castle would do for her. Her husband’s magic came with a price. She had wondered why he provided her three square meals and asked nothing in return but if the castle had it’s own magic...what price had she paid it instead?

“Dreams mostly.”

Belle’s eyes flew up to meet Jefferson’s who raised his goblet to her in a silent toast.

“Wh-What?”

“The castle,” Jefferson repeated slowly as if he was talking to a very young child. “You were wondering what price it’s magic costs. And I told you.”

“Dreams?”

She glanced up at the stones surrounding her before reaching out to the wall beside the bed. The cool but jagged stones cold against her palm. There was nothing in them to indicate any magical awareness, no chills or warmth radiated down her spine the way her husband’s magic did and she turned a confused but game eye back to Jefferson who was peering into the bottom of his cup as if surprised to see the bottom.

“It’s sentient, but not alive,” he said, scrunching his nose as he continued to peer down into his goblet. “It lives through you. One of the various reasons Dragonhide continues to deal in brides. He likes his castle with a little personality.”

Belle snatched her hand back to bring it to her chest where her own heart beating wildly in her ribcage. Jefferson looked up finally, finding her pale as a ghost, staring in horror at the walls around her and he began to laugh.

“It’s not funny!” Belle exclaimed, trying to relax despite her newfound distrust of the very walls around her. “You’re not a prisoner here!”

“Neither are you!” Jefferson wheezed amusedly, coming over to collapse on the bed beside her. He swung his feet up underneath him until he sat crossed legged beside her. He swayed back and forth from one hip to the other as if moving to a music only he could hear. “You can go any time you like.”

“And die as soon as I cross the threshold,” Belle reminded him. A sickly suspicion entered her mind and she eyed Jefferson distrustfully. “I won’t kill myself,” she said bluntly. “He’ll have to try harder than this if he thinks he can manipulate me into it.”

“Good gods, Brainless,” Jefferson gaped at her in astonishment. “What did I say earlier? I’m here to protect you from self harm, not entice you into it!” His blue green eyes were hazy but they latched onto her as if she was the only thing in the world. That intense focus and proximity made Belle feel a bit sick and she shrank back from him,

“No, no, no, you’ve got it all wrong,” he was saying as if unaware of her discomfort. He leaned forward until their noses were inches apart. “You’re the Mistress, Brainless,” he whispered before snapping back to his side of the bed with a little hum. “The Master doesn’t dream. He doesn’t sleep. He only eats and drinks when he wants to, but he doesn’t have to. He has no need of love or companionship. So think, Brainless. What does he need a bride for?”

“You just said,” Belle said, flushing in frustration. “The castle needs-”

“Nope,” Jefferson cut her off. “Try again.”

“But-”

“And he said you were clever.”

“I don’t know and I don’t care!” Belle exclaimed, pushing her plate off her lap to crash onto the floor. This one did not break, the castle having learned earlier that she was not to be trusted with crockery. The brass plate simply crashed to the floor, rattled and clanged before it finally settled.

Jefferson sighed, propping his elbow onto his knee as he leaned his cheek against his fist. For a moment, neither of them said anything. “I thought you be different,” he finally said. Belle did not look at him, but kept her eyes averted into the brass surface of her plate, where her own distorted reflection stared back up at her. “He told me...about the stories.”

Belle didn’t know what to say to that.

Except.

“Would you like to hear one?” she asked quietly, feeling rather ashamed of her outburst. Yes, she was scared and confused and yes, Jefferson was odd and alarming but he had done nothing for her to respond like a scared child.

For a moment, he did not say anything. Belle, too afraid to look at him, stood to pour herself more wine, and only when a hand appeared at her side, another goblet extended for more as well did she finally relax enough to look up at the red rimmed eyes of the Mad Hatter.

“He’ll be livid,” he told her. “He doesn’t like to share.”

“Then, he shouldn’t leave,” Belle replied evenly, pouring him a healthy glass. Then, she topped her own off a bit more, grabbing it before moving to sit down in her husband’s chair. “Beside, if I’m to entertain company in these conditions, I don’t know what else he expects.”

Jefferson settled back down in Belle’s usual chair, eyes downcast as Belle began her story.

\--

_In the deepest, darkest part of the forest, where the trees are old and their memories long, where humans have never tread and only the wolves can roam, there came a babe._

_Wrapped in swaddling clothes, he appeared as if born into existence in that exact spot, wailing and fussing as if he had been torn from the womb of the heavens and cast to earth to be forgotten and forsaken._

_And so he should have been, would have been, if a pack of wolves had not been at that exact moment passing nearby. Instead of killing the helpless thing, the pack took mercy on it, adopting it as one of their own as the pack mother had just weaned her own pups and had milk to spare._

_The babe grew to a child, one that ran with the wolves, bayed at the moon at the banks of the rivers and climbed the hills searching for the sun. The child grew into a man, who hunted with his nose and eyes, howled in the face of the darkness and slept in the light of the day. He covered himself with the furs of his kills and his eyes, one green and one blue matched his milk brother’s._

_He knew he was human, but he had little love for his kind. He lived in the cradle of the mountains, in the heart of the woods and he avoided humans, knowing that temptation and curiosity were as deadly to him as a well placed arrow or a boar’s tusk._

_Still, one cannot run from their fate forever, and when it found him, it was in his ten and twentieth year. The wolves were dying as the humans took more and more of the forest for themselves. Faced with extinction, the man-wolf knew that if he was to save his family, he would have to sacrifice himself._  
_He went to the human place, the stone and wood that had been changed and altered from nature into odd blocks and towers. He went to the Alpha, the woman they called queen, to beg for protection for his family. She was beautiful and great and from the second she saw him, she knew that she had found her equal._

_The Kingdom needed a King, and so, the Queen offered him what he had come for, the protection of his home, his family and his way of life. But in exchange, he would be her’s, and live the rest of his life with her among men._

_And so, he left the forest behind, switching his furs and claws for armor and feathers. He learned the ways of men as if he had never run with the wolves on a winter’s eve. He became known as the Huntsman, for his tales of his hunts were legends and despite his bristling demeanor and bark of a laugh, he was a man and the heart is a lonely hunter._

_The woman who had made him leave behind his pack, to become a man and shed his furs was without mercy and she had hoped to find that within the breast of a man who had killed all his life, a hunter. She was disappointed._

_Blinded by her desires, she did not see the love for life that the Huntsman had, knowing the sacrifices of his prey had kept him alive and that their lives had been honorable as had their deaths. As for the Huntsman, so blinded by his duty and his honor, he did not let himself see his mate was impure of heart, that she was selfish and self serving and all the things he hated in humans._

_He had been finally caged._

_They said the Huntsman ruled by the Alpha Queen’s side for a generation. That the forests grew back and the wolves grew more bold until the entire kingdom did not dare to cross into the woods, thinking death lay in the shadows and not realizing it was the circle of life. The dance of the animals and nature, living, dying, existing together in harmony._

_Tis why the Huntsman stayed at the side of the Alpha Queen. To hear the bays and howls of his family from far in his castle cage, and to know his sacrifice had been honorable._

\--

Feeling rather pleased with her tale, she turned to bestow a smile on her companion, only to find him sitting beside her, staring as if he could see straight through her.

“Stop looking at me like that,” Belle reprimanded him, lifting to finish her fourth or was it fifth glass of wine. She had gotten caught up in the story and the wine had been much more robust than usual, she had kept refilling her glass.  
  
Jefferson continued to smirk at her, but it was not his usual fevered grin. Instead, it looked more like the odd smirk of her husband, the terrible humorless one he was so fond of wearing. Belle grew nervous, and she swallowed as her throat went dry. He seemed to hear this, twitching his head towards her.

“Tell me, Brainless,” he drawled, but it was her husband’s voice and his eyes gleamed the gold of her husband’s as the candles suddenly flickered and swayed as if an invisible wind was pulling at them. “Do you believe yourself so unfortunate that you compare your fate with those of heroes gone by?”

“I don’t know what you mean,” Belle said, shaking her head to try and clear it from the wine. The room was nearly black now, with only Jefferson’s odd eyes illuminating the darkness, seemingly growing huge in his face as his smile widened. She pressed backwards against her chair, adrenaline beginning to fight back the fog as Jefferson’s grinning features continued to grow until it was as large as tapestry or a house crest.

“Oh, my poor little Brainless. You sit here and play at bravery but we all know better,” he giggled, the glowing growing eyes and smile beginning to bounce as if he was moving his head from side to side. “So, what are we to do with you?”

Belle tried to stand, but a rush of darkness seemed to surround her, encase her, and all the while that mad giggling drowned her out, until it was all she could hear. She fell to her knees, clapping her hands to her ears, screaming back against the insanity but it did not abate.It crawled down her throat, filled her lungs and stomach until she was sick. All the while, she knew the fevered eyes and yellow smile of the Mad Hatter watched her, laughing, laughing, laughing-

 

Belle sat up bolt right in bed, gasping for breath.

Panting, she jerked her head around the room, looking for Jefferson, or her husband and finding nothing but an empty room. She drew in a shuddering breath, pressed her hands to her own fevered brow and found a sweaty sheen along her temples. She took in a few deep breaths, waiting for her heart rate to slow down before she finally lifted her eyes.

A painful throb accompanied this, and as the nightmare ebbed away, Belle realized her mouth tasted of bile and her eyes were dry as sandpaper. It took her a moment to see the small vial on the bedside table and the accompany note that read **DRINK ME**.

She reached out a shaking hand to grab them both from the desk, flipping the note up to read:

_Dear Brainless,_

_You had a little too much to drink and not enough to eat. You fell asleep in the middle of your little story. I put you to bed (and didn’t peek!) but you’ll want this when you wake up. It should help with the feeling of death that accompanies Dwarfish Wine. I’ve never seen a man drink an entire bottle before, much less a maid such as yourself._

_I do apologize for laughing when you began to snore. I won’t tell your husband. It’ll be our little secret._

_XoXo,_  
_Jefferson_

Belle groaned, before uncapping the bottle and draining it one go. She gratefully laid back down again, fighting off the sleep before it finally retook her.

This time however she did not dream.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone! Alright, a lot just happened in this chapter. 
> 
> First of all, I hope you enjoyed Jefferson. He was a fun challenge to write as equally mad, menacing and endearing. 
> 
> And as for our story, it's based off Graham's story but twisted to fit the purposes of Belle drunkenly realizing that she is indeed comparing herself to fairy tales and legends and not seeing the point of her own story right in front of her.
> 
> I'm also going to clarify that no Jefferson did not get her drunk (she did that all on her own) and his nickname of Brainless is in fact in homage to the fact she's actually very intelligent but is lacking all common sense at the moment. 
> 
> Anyways, another night of Jefferson and Belle awaits us in the next chapter before her husband returns. As always, I am easily flattered by comments and would love to hear what you guys think as always.


	11. Jefferson's Story

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fifteenth Night

Jefferson stayed for nearly a week.

Belle became used to her days with her guest, waking earlier and earlier until she was yawning midway through their after dinner chats. They talked about everything. Books, songs and poetry were always safe subjects, and Jefferson took to bringing her down books he thought she might like. After the fourth day, she had two stacks on her desk and plenty to occupy her time when Jefferson was away doing whatever he did in the castle proper when he was not with her.

He asked about her childhood, her lands and their customs. However, he didn’t breathe a word about his own past, and she learned not to ask. The way his eyes grew dim, and his smile too tight hurt to see. In many ways, Belle was happier than she had been since she came to this wretched place but every day dawned and still she sat in a dungeon in the Dark One’s castle.

“Jefferson,” she finally asked on the night of his seventh day. “Do you have to leave when my husband comes home?”

The man’s eye twitched slightly as he stared back at her over their dinner plates. “Now, now, Brainless,” he chastised. “What would Dragonhide have to say about me stealing his wife’s heart away?”

“I didn’t mean it like that,” Belle corrected him. She curled her feet underneath her on the bed, watching him as he picked at his food. Jefferson either devoured his food with gusto or picked at it like a bird. Some days she had seen him eat enough for a horse, others nothing at all. Tonight, it seemed he did not have an appetite and it concerned her. “It’s just...I like having someone to talk to.”

“You have your husband.”

“Jefferson,” Belle sighed. “If you’re going to be difficult, you might as well just go.”

Jefferson didn’t move. He seemed to be debating something, his head tilting one way and then another as Belle returned her attention to her plate. Her companion was certainly interesting, kind in his own way even. She hadn’t realized how much she had missed being relaxed around someone until he had come into her life with his mad eyes and his feverish smile. “He’ll be home tomorrow,” Jefferson said suddenly. He put his still full plate down on the desk, fingers running over the spines of the books he had brought for her. “He’s never gone more than a fortnight.”

“Oh,” Belle replied, putting her own plate down now. “So, is this goodbye?”

Jefferson shrugged. “Not forever I hope?”

He looked over at her, eyes searching and hopeful and it reminded her that this man had probably seen as many brides as she had in her lifetime. She wondered if they haunted him as much as they did her.

“I’ve told you,” she said softly,” I’m not going anywhere.”

“In that case!”

Bouncing up from his seat at her desk, Jefferson nearly flew over to the loveseat, patting the cushion beside him emphatically as he beamed at her. “Come, come!” he chanted, wiggling in his seat like an overjoyed puppy.

Belle, laughing, moved to join him, sweeping her skirts to fold neatly around her ankles as she settled in beside him. “Now what?” she asked, smiling up at him.

“You were kind enough to share a story with me the night we met, do you remember?”

Belle nodded. It had been the Huntsman’s story but she had apparently fallen asleep midway through it thanks to Dwarfish wine and her ignorance of it’s potency. She had slept through most of his second day at the castle, and when he had appeared for dinner, she had been still too groggy to do much except discuss her fondness for books. He had come back the next day for lunch bearing the first of what was to be many little gifts of stories and poems for her, claiming her husband wouldn’t mind in the slightest.

It had also been the last story Belle had told. In her wine nightmare, she had come to a realization, she had resigned herself to be miserable. She had sacrificed herself and as much as she had tried to stay brave and resolved, she had let herself give up, retreating into fiction and legends in an effort to stave off the reality of her situation.

“Well,” Jefferson continued,” I wanted to give you one in return!”

“Oh?” Belle laughed. “I would love that, Jefferson, thank you.”

“That’s not all!” he giggled, rubbing his hands together before leaning down to whisper at her conspiaratedly. “Do you know my hat?”

Belle glanced up at it, unable to help the grin that spread across her face as she answered. “Why, no. What hat would that be, sir?”

Jefferson’s red rimmed eyes grew wide and astonished as he jerked backwards. “My word! Why, have I not told you about my hat?”

“Please do,” Belle teased, folding her hands in her lap. “I would love a good story about your hat.”

Jefferson shook his head, and the hat toppled off into his waiting hands. His curls bounced in the cool dungeon air, some bent from the hat’s brim while others crackled with the natural electricity that seemed so inherent to Jefferson. “Not a story about my hat! Good night, what kind of story would that be? It wouldn’t tell you anything that you need to know!

“No,” Jefferson continued, “my hat is just the way to get to where we are going!”

“Going?” Belle asked, startled. “Where are we going?”

“Upstairs!” Jefferson answered, jumping up until his rear end was balanced precariously on the back of the loveseat and his feet were planted beside Belle.

“I can’t go upstairs,” Belle exclaimed, the teasing moment gone as cold sweat began to pop up on her skin. “Jefferson, you know I can’t leave this room.”

“No, no, no,” he was saying, eyes gleaming as he stared straight ahead, down at the floor before the loveseat. “You can’t go out the door. There’s a difference!”

“Jefferson-”

Before she could say another word, he threw his hat down, spinning it so that it fell in a spiral down to the floor. Well, not fell exactly. The hat seemed to spin, faster and faster until a it looked like a blur of color which appeared to grow larger and larger until Belle stood beside Jefferson, wind blowing her hair in every direction as she gasped down at a whirlwind of light and color.

“Ready?”

She looked over to find Jefferson, mad but true Jefferson, holding his hand out to her with that dratted smile on his wretched face.

“I can’t!” Belle screamed over the noise. “I promised myself- I’d be the last!”

His smile faded and the broken man she had glimpsed once before stared back out at her. “Trust me,” he cried, hand still reaching out to her as the wind seemed to increase and the light grew blinding. Belle’s eyes fell shut, shaking her head even as she felt her hand reach out and take his.

“Right!” She heard him say in delight. “On the count of three- jump! ONE! TWO! THREE!”

And with that, Belle’s arm was wrenched forward and she found herself falling into her death.

Which looked remarkably like a dining hall.

“Now, now, Brainless,” Jefferson laughed. “Don’t look so put out. I thought you’d like it!”

They stood in a hall, but not like one she had ever seen in her life. The rafters were so far above them that it was totally in shadow. Windows lined one wall but all were curtained, and the only light came from the candelabras lining the center of the hall, hanging down from the dark rafters as if floating in mid air.

On the table before them, there was desserts of each kind and color. Chocolates and creams, sugar and fruits and everything in between. Jefferson hurried over to the table, beaming as he stood there, hat in hand as he tugged at his cravat. When Belle didn’t respond, he crammed his hat back on his head with a sad little sigh.

“You don’t like it?”

“Jefferson, where are we?” Belle demanded, feeling rather faint.

“Upstairs,” he replied in exasperation. He swept his arms out around him, indicating the huge room. “I’m not mad enough to take you out of the castle. He’d skin me!”

As the reality of it sank in, Belle felt lightheaded. She was free.

“This is amazing,” Belle breathed, turning to look at what lay behind her. It was the far wall, a door as large as two men were wide was feet away from her and without thinking she moved towards it. “Why it’s bigger than I could have imagined!”

“But dessert!”

“Come on,” Belle called out, hearing the almost manic laugh in her voice. “There’s so much to see!”

“Oh, now you’re brave,” he huffed but he trotted along. She paused slightly at the door, turning to ask him if it was safe but he nodded. “He’s only spelled that one bloody door,” he told her, pushing the door open. “But we aren’t going far.”

Anticipation tingled along her spine, down to her fingers as her hand reached out to grasp the door handle before her. “Go on,” Jefferson grumbled. “Let’s go take a look around.”

Belle twisted the knob, felt it give as the door slowly swung open. With a dry swallow, she stepped over the threshold and only then realized she had been holding her breath. “Oh, my,” she gasped, turning first one way and then the other. “It goes on forever!”

“It feels like that sometimes,” Jefferson agreed, ambling towards the right. “Let’s go have a look around the East Wing. Bit less cobwebby than the West.”

She hurried to catch up with him, marveling at the intricacies of stonework and the different marvels scattered around the hall. There was armor from every period and land imaginable, and Jefferson had to tug her away, as she kept stopping at every single thing to marvel and sigh over. Belle was so caught up in the amazing discoveries, she only barely remembered Jefferson was there when he would touch her elbow, hurrying her along to the next amazing thing.

The castle was dark and foreboding, true. Yet, Belle had never seen anything quite like it. Everywhere she turned there was something new, something fascinating and deadly to discover. There were oddities like puppets on strings, jewels wrapped in silk and bottles stopped with lead. All the while, Jefferson hummed under his breath, allowing her to discover her new home for the first time.

“Tell me about your hat” Belle requested after a while. “How does it work?”

“My hat is not the story I had meant to give you,” Jefferson replied, mysterious as ever. “However, I can tell you your story as we walk.”

“Please,” Belle said gratefully, looping her arm through his. “I would like that very much.”

_Far and Away was a simple town of simple people. There was the Farmer and the Blacksmith. The town had their very own Merchant and Miller. And though the Dairy Maid was no longer a maid they still called her that anyways because that’s what she had been._

_In Far and Away, there lived a simple spinner._

“I know this one!” Belle interjected. “Nan used to tell this to the children.”

“Excuse you,” Jefferson grumbled, stopping short. Belle stumbled to a stop beside him, finding he was pouting at her. “I don’t interrupt you when you tell your stories, do I?”

Belle, properly chastised, nodded in apology. “Sorry,” she said, “my husband seems to be rubbing off on me. I just realized how much I miss home when I heard those words. Miss my father, Nan and the children and I just…”

“Thought you’d never see them again?” Jefferson finished.

Belle nodded, shaking her head ruefully. “I’m sorry. Please go on.”

_The Spinner was a cowardly man but he had a son, a son brave as a knight. The boy was three days shy of his fourteenth birthday when he would become a man. It would not be a joyous day thought. On that fateful morning, the soldiers would come for the boy, to take him to the Frontlands where the Ogre War raged. The sky was colored blood red over the lands of Far and Away from where the fires of the war lit the sky to remind the world of the death and destruction that lay in wait for them all._

_Desperate and afraid of being alone, the Spinner decided to take his son and flee before the third day dawned and he would lose his son forever. His son protested, but the Spinner, too determined to save him, refused to hear it. They escaped into the forest, heading towards a neighboring town under the premise of selling wool. The dark was night, and full of terrors, as they fell over branches. The Spinner was old, old enough to have known war, and he walked with a limp but he pressed forward into the shadows of the forest._

_Here, in the darkest heart of the forest, they stumbled upon an old man. He was begging for alms, blind and needy as he sat in a copse of trees, bone thin and paper white as a ghost. The Spinner fished some coins out of his pocket, dropping them into the old man’s cup as they passed. A coward he might be, but a kind hearted one. He never could make the right choice, but his heart was always in the right place. He would sell his wool in the next town, or so he told himself as he pressed forward into the night._

_Just as the sun began to rise, the birds awakening to find the Spinner with his dirty knuckles and greasy skin and his son, youth and maturity at war in his frame and face, found themselves at the edge of the forest. Here, waiting for them, was the soldiers of the Frontlands, on their way back to their lord’s castle._

_They spied the lowly pair, and called them out of hiding, laughing and teasing as they limped out into the sunlight._

_Spindleshanks, they called the Spinner. Threadwhistle. Hobblefoot._

_They laughed and mocked him, riding in circles around the terrified pair before the leader saw the boy’s upturned face, glistening with outraged righteousness. A cruel man always fears the righteous man, and so he turned to the boy’s father, meek and broken after years of disappointments and pitfalls._

_It was here in the morning sun, six to two, they kicked at the Spinner and his son with their boots. The man who ran clutched his son to his chest, letting them kick at him from their horses, falling to his knees as his son struggled beneath him. He held him tighter, knowing death was waiting for him soon, but refusing to let it be that morn._

_Finally, they grew bored and left them there. A boy on the cusp of manhood, cradling his father’s bruised and beaten body far, far from home. It was then, the blind beggar from the woods appeared at their side to lend his aid._

_He helped them to a hut in the town, here the boy fell asleep as the beggar tended to the Spinner. He told him he was a poor man, who had lost his way in life and now, only lived off his beggings. The Spinner protested, having nothing more to pay for the blind man’s kindness but his words of gratitude._

_They stayed there until the Spinner was healed. Two days passed in the town as the Spinner’s boy watched his childhood slowly come to an end, knowing the next morning would bring the soldiers and then a life of war._

_He did not know that at night, the beggar told his father stories. Stories of hope and power, of choices for those that may be lame and friendless, for those that were born cowards dwindling away into dust. The Spinner treasured these stories of new chances and redemption, but he knew in his heart they were as rare as diamonds, and as unattainable._

_It was on the last night, the dark hours before midnight that would bring his son’s birthday to the hut that the beggar told him the story of the Dark One._

_A terrible sorcerer, enslaved to the Duke of the Frontlands, through a magical dagger. A blade where a name was etched in the steel, the true name of the dark one that allowed one control over the creature. It was this terrible thing that allowed the Duke to rule the lands, for the soldiers to run free terrorizing the people and kept the ogres are bay on the Frontlands._

_The Spinner, bent over with the weight of the world, hushed him, afraid of the power of the sorcerer, of the magic that was whispered in the darkness of the hut on the edge of the forest. The Blind Beggar fell silent, but as they fell to sleep, the Spinner’s heart pounded against his thin chest as the blood red sky through the window grew brighter as dawn approached._

_By the time his son woke that morning, his father was already gone. The day passed, as the boy hid in the hut of the blind beggar, watching as soldiers rode into town and he knew they sought him. His heart, brave and true, urged him to go to them to do his duty but he did not want to leave without saying goodbye to his father, so he hid and waited and hoped._

_It was nearly dusk, the sky crimson as the sun set and the moon began to rise when they found him. They stood there in the torchlight on their horses, laughing as they called out to Spindleshank’s son, for Threadwhistle’s bastard and Hobblefoot’s changling to come out and be a man when he appeared in the doorway, head held high as he faced his future._

_Before he took another step though, the laughter stopped. It turned to gaggles of gasps, death rattles in their throats and chests as the life went out of them. They fell, one by one off their steeds, collapsing to the dust where they lay as still as stones. The horses fled, neighing in terror as they raced off into the town._

_Behind them, a hooded creature stood, panting with his fist clenched around a silver blade, still dripping blood of his kills. His skin was parchment, eyes unseeing as he stood tall and proud unrecognizable as the moon rose overhead._

_There in the moonlight, his skin became golden, as he reached out one hand to the boy in the doorway. The Spinner was dead. In his place stood the Dark One, and the lands would bleed by the time he was done._

 

Belle’s hand was over her mouth, tears in her eyes as she stared into the fire. They had come to a study of sorts, a large spinning wheel and a divan being the only objects in the room beside a bale of hay in the corner. Belle had tears coursing down her cheeks, and as Jefferson’s voice died away she found herself blinking more back.

“Is that true?” she asked, her voice cracking. “How could that be true? The Spinner’s Tale doesn’t go like that, you must have gotten it wrong.”

“It’s a story,” Jefferson said. His voice echoed as Belle sniffed, closing her eyes against the story that was already worming it’s way into her dreams. “A story is never wrong, it changes from person to person. Why, didn’t you like it?”

“But...what happened to his son?”

“He died.”

A cold cruel voice cut through the room, breaking the spell. Belle gasped, jumping off the divan. There, in the shadows by the door, stood her husband. He had a hood, gray and tattered, and only his eyes and mouth could be seen in the shadows of his face. His eyes were slits, his teeth bared in a snarl and his hands were tensed at his sides.

Jefferson made an odd squeaking noise in the corner. The Dark One’s head snapped to him, and a silent conversation took place between them. Belle caught Jefferson’s eyes, long enough to think she had imagined it before he bowed and disappeared from the room as if he had never been there at all. She was left with her husband, dark and trembling and a story of a spinner and his son still ringing in her ears.

“Now, wife,” the Dark One growled, coming ever closer until he stood before her. “Tell me, why are you out of your room?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm very excited to share with you all that the Story Teller was nominated for Best AU this year! Thanks to all of you who voted and thanks for reading this dark little tale.
> 
> Also, the beautiful cover art by Midstorm (which I just realized I had never shared with you before now) has been nominated for Best Cover! It's my favorite but I'm biased. 
> 
> I hope you all enjoyed my take on Desperate Souls- and now that the Dark One is back home and Belle knows more, we're going to see a very marked difference in their relationship.


	12. The Woodcutter's Children

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fifteenth Night

Belle couldn’t breath.

That combined with the ringing in her ears made her noticeably woozy.

Her husband stood impatiently before her, a storm cloud gathering on his brow. “I’m losing patience, dearie,” he snarled. His talons glistened in the fire’s glow, deadly sharp and Belle swallowed hard.

“We were exploring. Jefferson said-”

“I’ll deal with the Hatter in a moment,” the Dark One said, his words heavy with a dark emphasis.

Belle felt sick. “But he didn’t do anything!”

His face switched into an ugly grin, a mocking distortion of his usual grimace. It was eerily twisted by the firelight. “Oh, defending him, are we?” he sang, stepping closer. “How telling.”

Belle’s knees felt like they would buckle at any moment but she willed herself not to falter. She laid her hand on his chest, and nearly snatched it back as she felt the hummingbird beat of his own heart beneath her palm.

“Husband,” she said quietly, breaking eye contact with him to stare down at her own exposed forearm. “Welcome home.”

He wrenched away from her. “Welcome home?” he said. “Welcome home? Is that all you have to say to me, little wife?”

Belle shook her head, letting her hand fall back down to her side. She couldn’t look at him. The story of the spinner still on her mind. “Jefferson was merely entertaining me,” she told him. “He’s been very kind.”

“Oh, I bet he has.”

He was pulling away from her, but the magic itself was growing stronger. She could feel the tendrils of it against her skin, the thrum of it in her blood as it gathered around the two of them. She was growing accustomed to sensing it, this dark power that seemed to seize him when his emotions got too high.

“Husband!” Belle said sharply, calling him back to her. “You have been gone far longer than you told me. You left a kind man to make sure I was not alone, and I want to thank you.”

“Thank me?”

The look of incredulity on his face would have been amusing if the situation hadn’t been so perilous. The magic faltered, and Belle finally took a breath without trembling. Emboldened, she nodded. “You could have just left me alone. He explained the castle would have taken care of me in your absence but...I would have been lonely.”

“I recall,” he said after a moment’s pause. “That does not, however, explain why you are out of your rooms.”

Belle cast about for an answer and finally sighed. “Jefferson’s hat,” she said. “I don’t know how but…”

“I know the how,” the Dark One said, gritting his teeth. “I would know the why.”

“Because,” Belle said, flinging her arms out in frustration. “He offered. He knew I was losing my mind there, buried down there with the ghosts of the past Brides in every stone. He knew I was lonely, he knew I was bored and he wanted to do something kind for me. Haven’t you ever done anything to be kind?”

He looked at her askance.

Belle sighed, letting her eyes fall shut. If death was coming, if a punishment was pending, she hoped it came quickly.

Her husband remained silent. No magic pressed against her skin, no hard touch brushed against her skin. There was only a heavy feeling of expectation and when she opened her eyes, she was alone in the hall.

Her heart thumped against her rib cage at an unnatural speed, and she sat down heavily in the nearest chair, pressing a hand against her chest as if that would calm it.

As her senses returned, she found she had been staring at the far wall where there were drapes against the otherwise stark walls. It appeared the windows were all closed and shuttered. She stared unseeingly at them for a bit. She had not seen the sky since the day she had left home. Had that only been a few weeks ago, a month or less?

Standing, Belle went to the nearest window, tugging effortlessly at the heavy fabrics but no matter how she twisted them, she found nothing but more curtains beneath them. After a moment or two of struggle, she let out a huff of exasperation and stood back in defeat.

She turned to survey the hall. Jefferson’s surprise banquet lay untouched, and beyond it, the small door through which he had disappeared. Belle wavered. The two of them had roamed the castle without incident but now that her husband had returned...would the magic of her prison extend to the castle itself or could she still come and go freely outside the cursed four walls of her room?

She steeled her spine, and marched towards the door. Her face was set, her mind made up and by the time she reached the door, she didn’t even pause before she strode through it.

\--

_There once was family who lived by the woods._

_The father was a great wood cutter, brawny and brave, who would go the edge of the forest and cut down trees. Behind him, came his two young children. His daughter, who had donned the mantle of womanhood early upon her mother’s death, and his son, who was as gay as a lark on the wind despite their poverty._

_The townspeople would see them on clear days, hard at work. The woodsman chopping down a tree, his daughter dragging the heavy logs onto a cart to take to the market, and the young boy planting seeds in the ground for a new tree to be born._

_They were happy. They were together._

_Yet, years passed and deeper and deeper into the woods they had to go to find healthy wood. The father grew old, his strength fading. His daughter grew strong and brave and his son grew disenchanted with this life of hard work._

\---

Within minutes, Belle was hopelessly lost.

Stopping abruptly, it occurred to her that perhaps the castle was preventing her from locating her husband. She glanced around, looking to see if there was anyone about, before she placed her hand on the wall gingerly.

“I need to speak to my husband,” she said calmly. She felt rather foolish standing there waiting for some kind of answer but she lingered stubbornly. It was either find him or wait until he put her back in her little prison.

When nothing happened, she took her hand off the wall, and headed forward. At least she was getting some kind of exercise, she thought to herself as she passed another dark staircase spiraling upwards.

She did her best to ignore the feeling of being watched by the empty suits of armor.

\--

_One day, the woodsman grew too sick to cut wood._

_He handed his ax to his son and heir. The boy knew the ways of the forest, knew the types of trees and the way to bring down the greatest tree with only one swing. But before his son left, his father reminded him, do not cut down the Great Green Tree._

_It was a large tree in the clearing of the glen by the river where the family had often taken their lunch. It was older than the oldest oak, taller than the tallest elm and had been planted by a witch herself or so the legend went._

_Hansel did not bother to listen. He did not want to be a woodsman. He did not want to go into the forest anymore, instead he longed to see the towns and castles of the nobles._

_He left the house before dawn arrived._

_His sister stood at the window, watching him disappear into the trees._

\--

She was going in circles.

Which was impossible, as she had been leaving herself a bread crumb of mental notes, but here she was, lost.

Turning back the way she had come, Belle noticed the long corridor she had traveled was now shorter than it had been. The corridor had become a doorway, just ten feet back. Curling her hands into fists, she dug deep enough to make a crescent moon shaped indention and just barely managed to avoid stomping her foot.

“This is completely unnecessary,” she said aloud. She continued forward, occasionally checking behind her to see what new twist the castle had done while she wasn’t looking. A right became a left, a up became a down, and soon Belle began to worry she would be stuck wandering these halls forever.

\--

_Hansel did not return that night._

_Nor the next day._

_His father grew worried, and tried to go out looking for him, but he could barely sit up in bed without collapsing backwards. Gretel soothed him, promising to go find her brother and be back by nightfall._

_She took a loaf of bread for the journey, and so then went into the woods. She was not afraid, as she knew the path like the back of her hand. She moved as quiet as a doe through the shadows of the trees._

_When she arrived in the clearing of the Great Green Tree, she found to her surprise someone waiting for her._

_Where the Great Green Tree had stood, there was now a woman. Tall as a young sapling, she was slender and lithe, her hair curling in chestnut browns and mahogany reds, her eyes green as a newly budded sprout and her skin as dark as the earth itself._

_She was clothed in a rich gown, the skirts of which hid her legs but did not hide the great roots that spilled out from beneath her, burying deep into the dirt._

_The Wood Witch greeted Gretel with a smile as sharp as a splinter. Nowhere was there any sign of her brother or their father’s ax, and Gretel grew fearful._

_The Wood Witch laughed. Her brother was fine, she told Gretel. He had freed her from her prison with one great swing, and she had rewarded him with a quest._

_Gretel’s heart grew heavy. Everyone knew a witch could not be trusted._

_She asked of where her brother had gone, to aid him if she may._

_The Wood Witch, pleased, told her of a little cottage deep, deep, down in the woods where a jealous witch lived. This Lesser Witch had cursed the Wood Witch, she told Gretel, frozen her forever as a tree by the river banks so the lesser witch could rule the forest herself._

_All she had asked of Hansel, the Wood Witch said, was to deliver her the other witch’s head._

\--

The story of the Woodcutter’s Children came to mind as Belle stumbled through the great castle. She whispered it to herself, recalling the darkness of the forests of her youth and remembering that even the bravest hearts could feel fear in the unknown.

“‘ _And for your aid,’ the wood witch said, ‘ I will gift you a part of my kingdom as well.’ But Gretel had no want of riches or power, she only wanted her brother back to return home to her father_ …”

“Where are you going?”

Belle turned sharply, finding her husband stood behind her.

“There you are!” she exclaimed, relief flooding through her. “I’ve been walking for hours!”

He shrugged. “I was busy. You seemed entertained.”

Belle resisted the urge to say something curt, instead taking a deep breath. “Jefferson. Is he…”

“Gone.”

Belle’s heart fell. “But...I didn’t even get to say goodbye.”

Her husband bristled. “Come,” he said sharply, turning in the direction from which she had just come. “Follow me.”

Having little interest in roaming the halls but no desire to return to her prison, Belle hesitated. Her husband ignored her, striding further and further away before disappearing to the right and up some tall staircase.

Heartened by the upwards direction, Belle hurried to catch up with him. He did not seem to notice her behind him, climbing higher and higher before he suddenly stopped and she nearly collided with him on the narrow stairs.

“In there,” he said with a wave of his hand, and Belle saw a small door just to the left of where they stood. It was a plain door, almost hidden in the curve of the staircase.

“Where does that lead?” Belle asked nervously, eyes lingering on the doorknob.

The Dark One exhaled forcibly through his nose, and waved her towards it again. Belle tightened her lips, and reached out to twist the small knob.

\--

_The Lesser Witch it just so happened lived in a house of riches in the heart of the woods._

_With the directions of the Wood Witch, Gretel found it easily. Upon her arrival, she saw her father’s ax, leaning against the outside of the great wall and she heard the music of a harpy floating upwards through the trees._

_The Woods Witch’s warning still rang in her ears. Do not sample any of the food, a simple taste would bring their doom._

_When Gretel entered the great door, she found her brother, alive and happy sitting like a king upon a throne. He waved her in, welcomed her to his new kingdom and showed her the gold and gems at his feet._

_Gretel was astonished, looking about for the Lesser Witch’s head but found nothing more than a pile of bones by the fireplace._

_Her brother told her the house had been empty. The Lesser Witch long dead and he was now the master of the house. Here, he told her, they would live from now on_.

\--

“What is this?” Belle asked, turning back to her husband.

“Don’t you like it?”

Words failed her. “It’s…. a room.”

“Your rooms,” he said gruffly. “Unless you prefer your original quarters?”

“No!” Belle exclaimed, but she did not step over the threshold. “Is...is this door spelled as well?”

Her husband looked at her for a long moment. Finally, he shook his head. “You did not touch anything of mine, you did not try and escape nor did you break anything of value. You have proven you can be trusted in my home.”

Belle felt weightless. “You mean...I can come and go through the castle as I please?”

He nodded, then lifted a finger with ghoulish glee. “If, however, you try and place one foot outside these walls, you will die.”

\--

_Hansel insisted upon a great feast to celebrate their fortune._

_Gretel declined, pulling out her loaf of bread and reminding him of the Woods Witch’s warning._

_He laughed at it, and plucked a nearby tart from a tray and bit into it, the red filling oozing down his chin like blood._

_The windows of the hall snapped shut. A wind howled outside and one by one the candles flickered and faded out, leaving them in the darkness._

_The Lesser Witch’s bones came alive, clinking horribly as they pieced themselves back together, the sightless unseeing holes where her eyes had once been filled with a burning fire._

_She was very much still alive._

\--

The room was spacious, even grander than the one she had left back home. There were no windows, but a small door to the side indicated there was a wash room just across the way. The colors were whites and blues, crisp and clean and wholly out of place with everything else in the forsaken place.

“Husband,” Belle stammered, walking into the room to fully enjoy it. “This is…” She faltered. “Kind.”

Before she could thank him, her husband had her by the throat. Belle’s hands flew up to cover his own, but he did not squeeze the air from her lungs. Instead, the heavy pressure of his palm against her throat, his talons scratching just below her ear, was more an odd caress. His fingertips lingered on her pulse point, and his thumb made a small circle that sent nerves dancing down her spine.

“This is not a kindness,” he told her. “This is a test of your devotion, wife. I await your impending failure.”

Belle placed her own hands over his, looking up at him and trying her very best not to be afraid. Their eyes met for a moment, and Belle saw a spark of uncertainty in his eyes and wondered what he saw in hers.

She wanted to ask him about the Spinner’s Story, about the son he had lost and if Jefferson was truly mad or if he had told her that story for a reason.

But before she could ask, her husband disappeared wholly from view. Leaving her with the lingering feeling of his fingers on her skin and her heart in her throat.

\--

_The Bone Witch locked them into a great cage._

_She grew the flames in the hearth, sharpened her phalanges on the stones and whispered the ways she would consume the soul of the would be boy king._

_Hansel cried and pleaded and sobbed but Gretel stayed silent._

_As the Bone Witch fed Hansel tarts and sweets, fatty meats and puddings rich, Gretel ate only her loaf of bread, waiting._

_And when the time came, the terrible creature unlocked the cage, pulling at Hansel, but it was Gretel who leaned out to seize the witch’s skull in her hands._

_Grabbing it, she threw it into the fire, and listened as the Bone Witch screamed in agony. The skeleton collapsed beside the fire, scrambling in the coals and ashes for her head._

_Gretel took a large poker, and with all her weight, pushed the skeleton entirely into the fire and then stood before the flames, smashing the iron weight into the crackling bones until the ashes and coals glowed red and the dust of bones were all that was left._

_They returned to the Woods Witch, empty handed, to find her gone. The clearing was deserted, and even the river that ran through it had gone dry._

_They returned to their home, and found a new family living there. They told them their father had disappeared into the woods weeks ago to find them and they all had feared them dead and gone._

_It’s said the two children went back into the trees to find their father, that they searched for years and never found him._

_For the Woods Witch keeps them apart, and will keep them wandering in the woods until she has her promised prize._

\--

The Dark One did not come back to her that night.

Belle explored her rooms, and found to her delight the books Jefferson had loaned her appeared at her bedside. Her dresses and things were here as well, the washing room the exact one that her husband had created for her down in the dungeons.

She twisted her wedding ring around on her finger, staring at all of this, and could not help imagining the man her husband had once been.

Had he been kind? she wondered. Had he been good?

It didn’t matter now, she thought wearily, climbing into bed finally. The creature that had cursed him, the Dark One whose bed she would one day have to share, was her husband.

The Spinner was simply a story.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, long time no update. 
> 
> Hopefully you guys got a kick out of this one. I liked the parallels of Belle wandering the magical castle as Hansel & Gretel wander the woods. Plus, now she's officially out of the dungeons and can explore the castle. If it's not clear, the magical boundary of the Bride's door, is now on any outside door. So, her prison has just gotten a little larger but it's still very much a prison. 
> 
> Again, no beta, so any mistakes are mine!


	13. A Tale of Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sixteenth & Seventeenth Night

When the morning came, Belle left her rooms for the first time since she arrived in them.

The magic provided her something to break her fast, water to bathe, and milk to drink but her curiosity grew too strong and bravery lent her a hand. With her heart in her mouth, she crossed the threshold of her room, pausing ever so slightly as she stared down the long spiral stairs.

With one last look over her shoulder, she moved to descend. The ghosts of her nightmares had stayed buried in the dungeon where she had left them, but as she traced her fingertips along the wall, she said a silent good morning to the women before her. She would not forget them, just because she had moved rooms.

They were a part of her now. For better or for worse.

\--

“Figured you would be here.”

Belle glanced up from the tome cradled in her lap. Her husband sat perched on the arm of a wingback, peering down at her in resignation.

Belle lifted a finger for him to wait, and looked back down to quickly finish the paragraph she had been reading. When she finished, she lowered it with a pleased sigh. Her husband’s mouth twitched as if he was muffling a laugh, but Belle missed it, too busy staring around the library in wonder.

It went on as far as the eye could see. Rows and rows of bookshelves piled to the ceiling where a thousand candles hung in graceful chandeliers, all burning brightly. The walls were full of more books, and while so many were out of reach, if she closed her eyes and thought of a story, a word or a tale, she would open her eye to find the perfect book placed before her.

“It’s wonderful,” she murmured, hugging the book she had just been reading close. “There are more books here than I ever dreamed existed.”

“You dream too small then,” her husband replied, but there was a humor softening the words. Belle smiled up at him, and he hopped up, moving away from her. “Dinner is served.”

“Dinner?” Belle said in amazement. There were windows here too, but they like all the others were drawn and closed no matter what she had tried. “It can’t be dinner,” she protested but even as she said that, her stomach gurgled in disagreement.

He raised a brow at her, before gesturing her to follow him with one of his long talons. “Come along, wife,” he sang. “It’s not nice to keep your husband waiting.”

Belle climbed to her feet but before she could join him, he stopped and wagged a finger in her face. “Leave it here,” he said.

Belle furrowed her brow at him in confusion. He rolled his great golden eyes, and leaning over, plucked the book from her grip. Belle flushed, having not even realized she had still been holding it. “Sorry,” she mumbled as he placed it gently on a nearby table. “Am I not allowed to take them out?”

“You may do as you wish here,” he said after a moment’s pause. “I simply do not feel like competing with a book for your attention this evening.”

Belle’s mouth went into a small perfect o of surprise. He was being...kind?

“I apologize,” she said, and behaving braver than she felt, she looped her arm through his. He stared down at the enjoined limbs, face going perfectly slack, all humor fled. “You have my full attention.”

\--

They dined in a great hall. The table was long and narrow, disappearing almost into the shadows of the rooms. Her husband took his place at the head of the table, flipping his coattails out from behind him as he settled into his chair.

Belle stared down the long distance to where her place had been set, and decided to continue being unpredictable. She pulled the chair closest to her husband out, ignoring the way he stared at her in astonishment. With the grace of a lady, she settled into it and looked back at his shocked face. “What’s for supper?” she asked pleasantly, looking around in interest.

The castle was quick to comply with her wishes. Between blinks, her place setting had moved to where she had deigned to seat, napkin floating into her lap like a feather. Her husband continued to gape at her, and Belle giggled, unable to help herself.

He scowled at this, turning to his own plate which was now full of meats and breads. Belle’s own plate had fresh vegetables and fish, and she eagerly took up her fork. There was still no knife beside her plate, but she chose to ignore that.

“How do you find your accommodations?” her husband asked, peering at her over his goblet. “I trust it is less crowded?”

Belle looked up at him from under her lashes, returning her attention to her food without giving him the reaction for which he had hoped. “Perfectly suited, husband,” she replied calmly. “Might I ask if I may open a window this evening?”

“No,” he snapped, his voice loud in the otherwise silent room.

Belle nearly dropped her fork at the sudden change in his mood. In fact, the entire room grew darker, as if some candles had blown out. Her shoulders tensed, but she forced herself to keep her eyes on her plate.

With a nod, she returned to eating. “The library is magnificent,” she said, as if he had not just barked at her without warning. “May I spend the evening there?”

“Oh, no, my little wife,” he snarled. “You will still spend your evenings with me. Just because I give you a seed, does not mean you can take a bushel.”

Belle resisted the urge to shoot back an angry retort. There was no need for them to get into an argument over dinner, Nan had always said that was the rudest possible behavior for a young lady.

“In your chambers or mine, husband?” Belle said quietly.

There was a tense silence as Belle nudged her carrots across her plate.

“We can sit in the library,” he finally grumbled. “Now, stop prattling and eat your supper before I take it away.”

Belle’s lips thinned, but before she could put her fork down, the plate cleaned itself and a small tart appeared. Torn between stubbornness and her sweet tooth, Belle dug into the crust and warm sweet raspberries spilled out.

If her husband noticed her smile of delight, he did not comment on it.

\--

Belle’s heart fluttered nervously in her chest as she settled down by the fireplace. Her husband chose to sit in a nearby chair, glowering into the fire that had roared to life upon their arrival. Belle spread her skirts out, watching her husband for a clue as to what he was thinking.

His playful mood had evaporated quickly over dinner, and Belle, still heady from her discovery of a magical library, was growing more uneasy as his mood darkened.

“Well,” he snapped, looking over at her sharply. “Are you going to tell a story or not?”

Belle scowled back at him in return. “Not with that attitude,” she said darkly. “I’d rather sit here in silence if you’re going to be such a...such a bully!”

His eyes narrowed into slits, a small nasty smiling playing upon his face. “Fine,” he cooed, sitting back and crossing his legs. “We’ll set in silence.”

Belle opened her mouth to reply, but he wagged his finger. “Nah, nah, nah,” he sang. “Silence.”

Belle humphed, crossing her arms over her chest in a snit. She kept her gaze on the fireplace, thinking darkly of all the things she would like to say to the creature she had married, but deciding against it. Her luck he’d keep her here all night.

The library wisely did not provide her any books. She had a feeling her husband would have banned her from the room altogether if she so much as touched one at the moment.

The evening passed in agonizing silence. It was only when Belle nearly feel asleep sitting upright, that she noticed her husband had disappeared from his chair.

With a few grumbled curses, she picked herself up off the floor, grabbed the closest book and stomped off to her room.

The spinner haunted her dreams.

\--

The next day went similar to the first. Belle spent the majority of it in the library, although the castle had seen fit to her remind her of dinner. She had been in the middle of a particularly interesting book on the mythology of manticores when the candle had begun to sputter and wane.

Taking the hint, Belle hurried to dinner to find her husband waiting for her. This time her place setting was at his right hand already, and he looked almost disappointed to find her on time, albeit slightly out of breath.

Dinner passed mostly in silence, and when they finished, he offered her his arm.

Belle stared at it a moment before gingerly taking it. “The library?” he asked and Belle nodded. It was worth another attempt. She enjoyed having her rooms to herself, and the library felt more like neutral territory despite last night’s disaster.

“I have a story picked out for you this evening, husband,” Belle said quietly as they made their way through the halls.

He gave one of his high pitched giggles. “I hate to imagine,” he said. “What with you being cross with me.”

“I’m not cross,” Belle said hotly. He gave her a look and she bristled. “Well, not anymore.”

“Is it one about a cruel husband?” he asked, leering at her in the semi-darkness of the hall. “Or a brave princess?”

Belle shook her head. “It’s about love,” she told him.

“Love,” he scoffed. “Who wants to hear about love?”

“You do,” Belle said tartly. “Unless you want to sit in silence again this evening?”

His silence was answer enough.

\--

_There once lived a girl, as beautiful as any queen could ever hope to be and as brave as any warrior could dream to achieve. She was of humble birth, but her beauty and grace shone bright in a kingdom on the brink of darkness._

_The crown prince spotted her at a wishing well one day in his travels. They fell in love at first sight, consumed with each other. However, their love was not meant to be, for he was engaged to a neighboring princess._

_Despite the purity of their love, the prince was a noble, and his power and wealth came at a great cost. He could not give his heart to who he chose, but instead owed it to his honor to marry the princess who would save his land from ruin with her dowry._

_The girl hoped to win him away, and he let himself be tempted. They ran away together, living in idyllic pleasure tucked away where no one might ever find them. The girl rejoiced, not for winning a prince, she had no need of crowns or riches, she had been born with the greatest gifts a soul could wish. No, she rejoiced for she had found love, and believed she was loved in return._

_However, on the eve of his wedding, the prince kissed her goodbye as she slept. He left a note, proclaiming his heart was hers but his hand was another’s. He begged her to fill her heart with love for someone else, and to be happy even if it could not be with him._

_The girl wept upon waking. She did not stir from her bed for days, too sick from love._

_On the seventh day of her heartbreak, a knock came at the door. A peddler man, with a hunched back, arrived at her honeymoon cottage and begged for shelter from the storm._

_The girl, tears in her eyes, offered him all he could want. She had no use for it anymore._

_The stranger wiped the tears from her eyes, and throwing off his rags, revealed himself to be a powerful sorcerer. He proclaimed her the fairest in all the land, and asked her what he might do for he in return for a smile._

\--

“Nonsense.”

Belle paused. “What’s nonsense?”

Her husband scoffed. “No one just offers magic for a smile. What good’s a smile?”

“It’s a story,” Belle reminded him gently.

“It’s not,” he grumbled back, twitching his foot where it rested on his thigh. “It’s make believe, is what it is.”

Belle patted the floor beside her. “Your problem,” she said, “ is you’re too far away from the fireplace. You’re grumpy because you’re chilly.”

“I’m not,” he said in offense.

Belle smiled. “You’re shivering,” she pointed out. “Don’t think I didn’t notice. You’re not usually that twitchy.” He eyed her but after a moment, slid down beside her. He peered at her, the shadows from the fire casting odd shadows behind them. “That’s better,” Belle said brightly. “Now, stop interrupting my fairy tale or we’ll be here all evening.”

\--

_What would you have of me? he asked._

_For him to love me, she said._

_Alas, he could not do that._

_To stop loving him, she pleaded._

_Alas, he could not do that._

_To forget him, she begged._

_That, he could do._

_He drew from his pocket a vial, foggy mist stoppered in its depths._

_The next time you see your love, he told her, drink this and you will forget._

\--

Her husband snorted.

Belle stopped, an incredulous look on her face. “You’ll like it if I can just finish it,” she told him sharply.

“How do you know?” he said childishly.

Belle faltered. “Well, you don’t know you won’t,” she finally replied.

His crocodile like smile widened. “Oh, my little wife,” he cooed. “Why would I want to hear about love?”

“It’s the most powerful magic of all,” Belle said before she could think better of it.

He laughed, the same smile still on his sharp face. “Love makes us sick,” he whispered to her, reaching out to curl the tendrils of her hair in his talons. “It haunts our dreams, destroys our days. Love has killed more than any disease.”

Belle stared back at him aghast. “You believe that, don’t you?”

He nodded, eyes fixed on her’s. In the gleaming of the fire, she could see herself in his gaze, her mouth parted slightly and her eyes blown wide. “That’s sad,” she said. She lifted her own hand and gently cupped his face. He jolted slightly, but Belle scooted closer until she was close enough to breath him into her lungs. “Love is many things,” she said quietly, her breath against his cheek. “But it is not sad.”

She angled her face to his, and without a tremor, pressed her lips to his. They had kissed before, but he had always been in control. Here and now, Belle put all her hopes into that small kiss, their lips barely brushing. His hand stayed buried in her curls.

When she sat back on her heels, his eyes were already open, watching her like a hawk. Belle stared back, memorized, until a sharp sudden stinging sensation caused her to cry out.

Her husband had plucked some hairs from her head. Eyes watering, Belle clapped her hand to her forehead. She hiccuped slightly as she tried to tamper down the feeling of disappointment welling in her chest. “I was just trying to-”

He smiled at her, and reached back out to press a soft kiss to the uncovered part of her forehead. “Oh, little wife, I know exactly what you were trying to do,” he sighed. “But I don’t want my pain erased. Wretched as it is, I need my pain. It makes me who I am.”

He stood. “We will finish the story tomorrow, perhaps.”

He moved to leave and Belle, dashing tears from her eyes, jumped to her feet. “You’re not alone anymore,” she called to his retreating back. “You brought me here for a reason whether you admit it or not!”

He stopped, turning his head to look at her over his shoulder. “I have my reasons,” he said quietly, and before Belle could reply, the magic took him and he was gone.

Belle inhaled shakily, and then collapsed into the nearest chair, curling in on herself. The tears, more startled than anything, dried up and left her with her own thoughts. “I’m not going anywhere,” she whispered to her husband, though she had no idea if he would hear. “You won’t be getting rid of me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so a few lines are right out of the script for 7:15 AM but I took it as fate that this chapter was with this episode, so I left them mostly untouched. 
> 
> (Plus, I had completely forgotten Stealthy Dwarf was even a thing.)


	14. The Jinn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eighteenth Day

Though tempted to explore more of the castle, Belle resigned herself to the inevitable. She returned to the library the next morning, and stayed there. The tiff the night before with her husband had bothered her more than she liked to admit. The monster she had married seemed intent on keeping her at arm’s length, refusing to let her truly know him.

She had little desire to be mocked this morning, and it seemed the one safe space outside her rooms was the library. He may follow her there, but he seemed to respect her love of the place. Moving between the stacks, Belle let her eyes flicker over titles, until her eye fell on one in particular. The spine’s lettering was foreign, a series of shining, glimmering and splendid letters that seemed to call out to her amidst all the others. Her fingers reached out to touch it, only to find her wrist seized in a tight grip.

“Ow!” Belle exclaimed, her free hand going instantly to cover the scaled hand of her husband. “You’re hurting me!”

He ignored her. He frowned down at the book that had caught her eye, and before she could utter another sound of distress, he clicked his finger togethers and it disappeared in a puff of smoke. 

“But-” Belle cried, feeling utterly bereft at the loss of her discovery. She lifted her furious gaze to her husband’s face, and found it clouded. Her anger ebbed as suddenly as it had come, and she stared at him in puzzlement. “Husband?”

He shook his head slightly, eyes finding her, focusing on her instead of staring through her. Belle tugged her wrist slightly, and his grip released as if he had awoken from a dream. Belle glanced at where the book had sat, and found a new book sat there...one that fit in perfectly with its neighbors.

“What...what was that?” she asked, moving closer to him. He put an arm around her, and expertly led her back out of the stacks toward the fireplace. It swooshed into life at their approach, and he sat her neatly down as she blinked owlishly. His touch was gentle but firm, and he seemed to be protective of her in a way that seemed at odds with the beginning of bruising on her wrist.

“There are certain items in my possession,” he said, startling her out of her reverie. “That are dangerous. You ought to be more careful.”

“What was that?” Belle asked, curling her hands into balls against her chest. “It was… was as if I had to touch it...to free the secrets inside of it…”

“It’s called a grimoire, that particular one is from the lands beyond the sands.” 

Belle knew of grimoires, and though she could still feel the desire to touch the book in her bones, she shuddered a sigh of relief. She had no magic in her, such a thing would have surely used her to its own ends, none of which would be good. Grimoires were evil things, and the few still in existence were rightly feared.

“I know a story about a creature from the lands beyond the sand,” Belle said faintly. “Should I...should I tell it to you?”

He inclined his head, moving to sit at her feet. “Bit early for a story today,” he said casually, eyes tracing the lines of her legs through her gown. “However, I’m in between...projects.”

It was a simple story, one Nan had told her countless times, and she found the words of it with ease.

_A thousand and one wishes will set a jinn free._

_These are the words inscribed into every lamp, every shackle that contains one of these magical creatures, a promise and a warning. To discover a jinn was to invite death and grief, as their wishes were tainted, poisoned with potential misery. Still, the people of the sands continued to wish away, and the jinn continued to count down the day until they would be free._

_One wise man upon discovering a jinn, thought wisely before he wished. “Jinn,” he asked reverently. “How many wishes have you granted?”_

_“A thousand,” his new servant answered, counting on the greed and foolishness of mankind to set him free._

_The man before him nodded solemnly. “My friend,” he said, “ I cannot be the man to set you free. My heart is full and I have no desire but to live simply.”_

_“If you do not make a wish,” the Jinn warned darkly, “I shall track you down when I am next awakened, and strike you down where you stand.”_

_The man, knowing this to be the truth, thought deeply. “Then,” he answered after a moment, “I shall have to send you far away, and hope to die before you are freed once more from your cage.”_

_Powerless, the Jinn returned to his captivity in his lamp, and the wise man took the object to the great river that fed the desert lands. He threw the lamp deep into the murky depths, hoping it to be lost until his time had come. And so the lamp stayed there for decades, until one day, the current seized upon the jinn’s prison and carried the object past the sands and mountains to the great sea._

_The alphabet of the jinn is well known in their native lands beyond the great sands, but few can read it in the forest realms, which is where the lamp washed up years and years later. It was here that a great king found the lamp, and woke the Jin from his sleep._

_“My King,” the Jinn said, bowing low to his newest master. “I am the Jinn of the Lamp, and I offer you three wishes.”_

_This King was also a wise man, much like the man who had sent the Jinn to the bottom of the sea. Instead of a wish, he invited the Jinn back to his castle as a guest._

_“You shall dine at my side,” the King said, thinking to save his wish till the time was right. “My people shall be your people.”_

_The Jinn did not reply to this, knowing that he was one wish away from freedom, but he was trapped by his nature and had to agree to go with the King._

_It was there at the castle that the Jinn looked upon the Queen for the first time and lost his heart._

_The Queen was young and fair, but her heart was cold. Both of them were trapped in the court of the King. They did not belong there in the halls of marble and diamonds but they were unable to leave, serving the whims of a man who had no love for either of them, but desired them for what they could give him._

_An heir and unlimited power._

_In this despair, the two found each other in their darkness. First a friendship was planted, one out of respect and understanding. Then, fondness grew, a need to make the other smile despite the truth of their captivity, and then finally, love blossomed._

_The Jinn told the Queen that if the King would make but a single wish, he would be liberated from his enslavement, and able to free her from her bounds of matrimony. And so, they hatched a plan to trick the King to his own downfall._

_With the help of a poison, native to the lands beyond the sand, the Queen fell ill. So ill, the healers mourned any chance to save her._

_“Tis a shame,” the Jinn said when he learned of this tragedy from the King. “To lose your wife and heir all at once.”_

_Shocked to discover his wife carried the long awaited heir, the King, old as he was, knew there was little chance of siring another heir. Desperate, he did the one thing he had sworn only to do in dire circumstances. He used his first wish, which was to be his last._

_“Jinn. Save my wife and her child, cure her of the illness that threatens her life.”_

_The Jinn smiled, and in a burst of magic, he cured his lover of the poison he had administered to her, and saved his unborn child, all at the bequest of the man who would have kept him from them._

_As the shackles of his bondage fell away, the Jinn cut down the King as well, but in his desire for vengeance, he forgot the truth of his kind._

_A Jinn’s wish is always tainted._

_The Queen recovered from her illness, her stomach swelled as their child came to term, but on the day of the birth, both slipped from the world in a river of blood, leaving the Kingdom leaderless and the Jinn utterly alone._

_Unable to face a life alone, but unable to grant death or life, the Jinn could only do one thing._

_When the conquering army of the nearest kingdom arrived at the castle, they found the royal tomb. Nestled in the hands of the Queen, lay a small golden lamp, with words of another tongue etched in letters of fire._

_They did not touch it, but left it there in the tomb. Where to this day, the Jinn remains to look upon his love, forever and always at her side._

“More love,” her husband sighed.

“It felt topical,” Belle said in defense of her choice. She had always liked that particular story, sad as it was. “And...thank you,” Belle added, the thump of her heartbeat thudding against her closed fists. Her day gown clung to her as sweat broke out along her back from the heat of the fire. It was times like this she wished desperately to feel a breeze from a window. “For...saving my life.”

He snorted. “Dramatic, aren’t you? It wouldn’t have done much, possibly use you a host or turn you into a creature of the sands. Nothing I couldn’t fix. Eventually,” he added as an afterthought.

Belle’s jaw tightened. “My mistake,” she said. “I should trust you would protect me from anything that isn’t you.”

His golden eyes narrowed and he leaned down until their faces were inches apart. “Careful, wife,” he sang in a whisper. “I’ll remind you how easily replaceable you are.”

Stunned, Belle did not answer. His eyes hid nothing from her, the truth of it as evident to her as the color of his skin. Something inside her riled at this knowledge, and Jefferson’s voice whispered in her head, reminding her of something he had once said.

_“What does he need a bride for?”_

It clicked into place with crystal clear clarity. The story of the Spinner and his son, his insistence on sharing her bed, and the truth of his need for a bride.

He wanted a child.

For what, Belle did not know. She stared at him in horrified understanding, and he stared back at her, uncertain and uncomfortable. “What?” he snapped, bristling. “You look as if you’ve seen a ghost.”

In exchange for her virginity, she would get his name. Names had power. Perhaps the power to end the Ogre War once and for all...if she could get the truth of his name to her father...she would save her kingdom. If she could give him a child...she would be the last Bride once and for all.

Then, they would be safe.

All she had to do was fulfill the final duty of a wife, and give herself to the monster completely. Before she could think better of it, Belle leaned forward and captured her husband’s lips with a kiss.

For a moment, he stayed frozen, on the edge of pulling away from her. Then, as if the tide had turned, he surged forward, pinning her against the wingback chair’s back as his hands plunged into her hair. Belle let him take his pleasure, trying to remind herself to breath as the realization of what she had to do settled into her chest, robbing her of breath. She didn’t realize she was crying until her husband pulled away with a start.

“My, my,” he crooned, kneeling down until his head was level with her lap. She resisted the urge to curl up away from him, watching him like a snake in case he chose to struck. “You’re full of surprises, aren’t you, my dear?”

He left her there, with a bruise on her wrist from his mercy, her lips red and puffy from his passion and her mind reeling at the understanding of his desires.

And the knowledge that tomorrow there would be no story.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This Chapter was based off Episode Eleven, Fruit of the Poisonous Tree with the awesome Giancarlo Esposito, as the Genie in the Lamp/Magic Mirror. Again, one of my favorite twists of Season 1. Needed to twist it a little here, as the story that came down to Belle would have been missing the inherent info that the "Queen" was actually playing the Genie all along (like a fiddle might I say.) As you can see, the Dark One knows the truth of this particular "love story". Also, fun to get to write a little of one of the original 1001 Tales Stories- the Genie in the Lamp while still keeping it OuaT. Was excited to work a little magic there.
> 
> Speaking of the truth, show of hands, who knew what the Dark One wanted with a bride? I've been trying to leave some bread crumbs here and there, especially with Jefferson's little hints. Next chapter is the Skin Deep episode, and since we're totally retelling that particular story...there's going to be something else instead. For everyone hoping to see some s-e-x, you're about to get it. It was important to me though that Belle arrives at the decision on her own agency, and has power in the decision. Rumple is as dark here as they come, but he's dealing with a brave beauty and she knows exactly what's on the line here.
> 
> Thanks for reading, and hope to see you guys around soon. 
> 
> (PS- a few more likes and this story hits 400 KUDOS!!! THANK YOU!)


	15. Skin Deep

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nineteenth Night

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of all, huge thanks to each and every one of you who left kudos! Last update had over 100 kudos! 
> 
> Now, this chapter was born from the promo of Dark Castle Dancing and because you all know by know I am slut for some dark castle shenigans, you bet your happy bottom dollar, I sat down and wrote this in one breathless, excited happy go. So, there is some call outs to the short promo but as always this is darker, dearie, much darker.
> 
> Pretty much all of this is sex. And not romantic, feel good sex, but carnal, hot, one night stand I don't know your name kind of sex, and the Dark One is still the Dark One. If that squicks you, skip this. 
> 
> (Am I dating myself with squick? I should just write LEMON at the top of this and really feel old)

Belle passed a sleepless night in her new rooms. Though tired, her mind was too restless and the knowledge of what tomorrow would bring kept her uneasy company.

She had always known this would come, the carnal knowledge that all wives must learn. However, she had used her wiles and stories to postpone it, to buy herself time until the inevitable. She could continue weaving stories for her husband, who seemed more amused than vexed at her ploy, or she could take the bull by the horns.

So to speak.

The castle seemed to understand her uncertainty, bringing breakfast to her room without prompting. Belle was grateful, and took her tea by the fireplace, staring into the flames. Her husband did not come looking for her, and she wondered if he suspected. She sighed, nibbling on a piece of toast though she was not hungry in the slightest. Her mind was in the near future.

They had shared kisses before, and while they had been frighteningly intense, there was no denying the small fissure of something that had stirred in her every time her husband touched her. Sometimes revulsion, sometimes anticipation but always that small rush of adrenaline that left her knees shaking and her breath short.

What would it be like to lie with a monster?

Belle pondered this all morning until her rooms grew too claustrophobic. Tugging her nightgown tighter around her, she acknowledged her own cowardice as foolish. All wives were scared of the marriage bed, Nan had told her that countless times. It was a duty to be performed, and Belle had met every other duty with no complaint.

She could be brave.

As she pulled her wardrobe open, a single outfit hung in its depths. A golden, glimmering gown that was not all appropriate for day wear. Belle stared at it a moment, before tentatively reaching out and touching the full ruffles lining the skirts. It was a pale yellow fabric, lined with golden beading and laces that winked at her in the candlelight of her bedroom. It was a gown for dancing, for festivities, and for celebrations.

If her husband did not suspect her plans, the castle certainly did. Belle’s brief spurt of bravado failed her, and she shut the wardrobe firmly. She returned to bed, and pulled the comforter over her head.

\--

Only when the call of nature became too insistent did Belle crawl out of her bed. She relieved herself, and the first time wondered why there were no mirrors in the castle. She had not noticed it when she had lived in the dungeons, but she took a quick moment to search around her quarters, finding no looking glass, no mirror, and the windows still stubbornly inaccessible.

The castle, helpful as always, provided her a set of brushes and some rouge and powder. She touched the ornate handles reverently, before lifting a hand to the bird’s nest that was her hair. She had taken it down a while ago, but couldn’t remember the last time she had combed it properly.

When she risked a glance back into the wardrobe, the gown was still waiting for her. Belle sighed, but accepted the fact the castle was not going to let her slip out of this one. Tonight, she would lay with her husband.

Not here though, she decided, looking around her room once more. All wives had their own rooms where even their husbands dared not enter. It may be his castle, but this, unlike her already beloved library, could be her sanctuary.

As the afternoon dwindled into evening, Belle began her preparations for the wedding night she never had. She remembered the stories newlywed ladies had told her, about being bathed and perfumed, pinched and prodded, combed and styled until they were as beautiful as they would ever be.

A few spoken requests were met with ease. A steaming bath appeared with satchels of roses bobbing in the water, and warm, fluffy towels draped over a stool to the side. Despite the knots of anxiety in her stomach, Belle relaxed for the first time in hours as she sank into the clawfoot tub’s depths. She must have even dozed, for when she opened her eyes, she found her hair had been washed and her flesh scrubbed pink.

The water had cooled as well, so Belle climbed out of the tub to seize the towel gratefully. She wrapped it about herself, and when she turned around, the tub had disappeared. Belle was amused at the castle’s efficiency and slightly scared of it. Jefferson had told her it used her dreams as a sort of price...what dreams had she shared with it just now?

She blushed a bit. The dreams had been scattered, the odd fantasies of one half asleep and half awake. There were faint pieces still in her mind, but they were nothing a lady should think of, much less dream about, so Belle hurried to put it out of her mind.

She sat down to her vanity, and twisted a wry lip at the space a mirror should sit. It seemed the castle was not being entirely helpful, so Belle had to put on her powders and rouges as best she could. The castle did not help, though it did offer a pot of lip paint unrequested.

Belle hesitated for only a moment, before seizing the small jar. The partnering brush was feather light against her skin, and with some careful maneuvering, Belle felt she had done the best one could expect when putting on one’s toilette blind.

Her hair had dried in the interim, though some of the curls were still damp. Belle ran the combs through it, but was left stymied with what to do with it exactly. A faint tingling on the back of her neck was the castle’s subtle hint and Belle chuckled. “Alright, fine,” she agreed, closing her eyes and bending her neck forward. “Do your worst.”

What followed was actually quite soothing. With her eyes closed, the gentle tugging and grooming could have been Nan, and at that thought, Belle had to wipe the tears that collected at the corner of her eye. She had never gotten to say goodbye to her old nursemaid, and it should be she, not the castle, who prepared her for her wedding night.

The magic paused, uncertain and Belle waved the same hand that had wiped away her tears. “I’m sorry,” she told it, resisting the urge to shake her head. “I’m just a little...nervous is all. You didn’t hurt me, please continue.”

By the time her coiffure was finished, Belle’s stomach was rumbling. The castle did not provide any supper, which meant dinner had been served downstairs. Still undressed, Belle lingered at the vanity, touching her hair reverently. It had been curled and twisted into elegant ringlets, pinned expertly into place.

“Does he know?” she asked the castle, as her stomach rolled and twisted.

The castle did not answer, but the wardrobe doors swung open as if to hurry her along. At this last part, Belle was too busy trying to calm her shredded nerves to pay much attention to the castle’s machinations, but before long she was dressed and ready.

It was now or never.

\--

Her husband was waiting for her in the great dining hall. He wore his usual leather breeches and dark jacket, and he did not look as if he had even bothered to run a comb through his hair. At the sound of her approach, he turned to snarl something and stopped dead at the sight of her.

“Husband,” she greeted, sinking into a soft curtsy. “I hope I did not keep you waiting?”

“What are you wearing?” he demanded. “You look like a -”

“Bride?” Belle supplied, and though the sound of her heart beat like a drum in her ears, it was worth it to watch realization fall across his face.

“Oh?” he said softly, and he took a step towards her. “Have you decided something, wife?”

He was so close. Belle opened her mouth to reply, but nothing came out but a soft sob. Her husband’s grin grew at this, and he leaned further down, though he did not touch her.

“My, my,” he said, lifting a finger to toy with the lone curl that had been left to dangle over her shoulder. His talon scratched against her bare skin, but she didn’t dare look down to see if it had drawn blood. “Such a pretty picture.”

Belle let her eyes drift close, body paralysed. Fear coursed through her, locking every muscle into place and she internally railed at herself for her stupidity, her brashness, her inability to be strong-

“Wife,” her husband chuckled, and she jumped slightly as his breath hit the spot right beneath her right ear. It was warm and intimate, and it sent an odd shiver running down her spine. “What story do you have for me tonight?”

“No story,” Belle whispered, keeping her eyes shut tight. Her appetite had disappeared upon seeing his smug smile, and the idea of food made her queasy. There was no need to delay this any longer.

She lifted her chin, pursed her lips into a kiss and waited.

His chuckle came back to her, slightly further away this time. Startled, she opened her eyes to find he was seated on the dining room table, watching her with that same damnable smile on his face.

“Come here,” he said, crooking a finger at her. Belle did not move, torn between the need to flee and the knowledge she must stay. “Come,” he repeated, this time more forcibly and a small push of magic nudged her forward.

“No magic!” Belle blurted, crossing her arms over her chest. “Before I take another step, promise me that at the least.”

“Promise you?” he said, blinking owlishly. Then, he laughed. “You have an awful lot of rules and regulations, wife. Your predecessors never dreamed of wearing rich gowns and dining at tables. They lived their last days in darkness and misery, and were grateful for the scraps of humanity I gave them.”

That was the wrong thing to say. An indignant anger rose in her belly, and she took four quick steps toward him, raised her right hand and swung it forward to slap him square across the face.

He caught it easily, and tugged her until she tumbled in between his legs. She cried out as the awkward angle twisted her arm, and he dropped it neatly, just as he reached down to steal a kiss from her open mouth.

Belle squirmed against him, but his hands were on her hips and they held her in place as he took his pleasure. It was a different sensation than the other kisses they had shared, his tongue darting into her mouth, as if searching for the words she had never dared speak to him. It was an odd feeling, and Belle pulled away from it as soon as she dared.

“Say the words,” he grunted, holding her flush against him.

“Did they?” Belle spat at him, her previous fear having been burned away by her anger. “Did the women before me get a choice?”

His talons pressed into her dress, and the sound of fabric ripping reached her ears. “I never laid with one that did not say yes,” he snarled down at her. “I am not such a monster to force myself on you foolish quims.” Belle met his glare evenly, arms trapped between her chest and his arms. She twisted a shoulder, but he did not release her. “Say it, wife. Say the words.”

“My name is Belle,” she replied scathingly, and then pressed up on her tiptoes and pushed her mouth to his. This time it was her tongue that did the searching, and though she had braced herself for a terrible taste of his black teeth, she instead found the lingering flavors of red wine. As she deepened the kiss, awkwardly at first, she found her arms freed, and she moved them to his shoulders, pulling him down a bit to avoid straining.

He went willingly, taking over the kiss when she started to pull away. A hand moved to the small of her back, the other plunging into her hair, and Belle wanted to tell him off for ruining her coiffure but was too busy trying to remember how to breathe.

When he pulled away, Belle lowered back onto the balls of her feet and touched a shaking hand to her lips, now plump and flushed red, not from paint but from her husband’s kisses.

“Say it,” he repeated, but his tone was strangled.

Belle cut her eyes to him, her shoulders heaving slightly as she sucked breath into her aching lungs. “What was that?” she demanded of him. “I said no magic.”

His eyes glinted. “That was desire, Belle,” he told her, leaning closer. “I can show you more of where that came from. Say the words, and I will give you everything you never knew you yearned for.”

“My agreement for your name?”

He nodded, his nose rubbing against her cheek. “When I have your maiden head’s blood on my fingertips, I will give you my name to scream into the evening air,” he promised her, and another tingle bloomed to life in her stomach.

“Scream?” she whispered, still slightly afraid despite the growing sensations in her body.

His fingers moved to her bare shoulders, toying with the exposed flesh as he pressed his lips to the spot right beneath her ear. He bit it gently, causing her to jerk but his hands held her in place as he gently soothed the feeling away with his tongue. It was too much, and Belle lifted a shoulder as she pulled her head away, trying to escape the conflicting feelings building in her.

“Curious?” he asked her, moving up slightly to nibble at her earlobe.

Belle opened her mouth to dismiss this but instead a noise of surprise emerged instead as he sucked at her ear, tongue laving at her heated skin lasciviously.

“No magic?” she repeated, though her voice sounded faint even to her ears.

“If you would prefer that,” he said after a moment, pulling away from her long enough to stare her in the eyes. “The words first.”

Belle’s tongue felt thick in her her mouth, her legs were barely supporting her and there was an unknown dampness between her thighs that she could not explain. Finally, she nodded. At her husband’s irritated expression, she hurried to add what he wanted to hear. “I would have you as my husband tonight,” she said softly. He eyed her as if making his own decision, and Belle feeling emboldened by her own decision, reached out and lay a hand on his leather encased thigh. “Though I do not know what to do, I would be yours from now until my dying day.”

His face was a blank slate, his always mercurial moods having disappeared as some stranger took his place. Belle felt foolish, but did not pull her hand away. She knew what lay between men’s thighs, she could see he was not unaffected by their actions so far. Her curiosity was piqued, and as usual, it overrode her more sensible apprehensions.

Her husband hopped off the table, and with a click of his fingers, they disappeared into a whirl of smoke. Belle took a step hastily towards him, having never particularly cared for this in the first place, and bumped face first into his chest.

His arms went around her, whether to hold her in place or embrace her, she did not know. When the smoke cleared, they were in an unfamiliar room, though the large bed now beside them indicated it was her husband’s rooms.

Everything had the look of furniture that had never been used, and Belle moved to get a closer look at the bed, puzzled. “It looks like it’s never been slept in.”

“It hasn’t,” he said, coming to stand behind her. His hands went to her hips, his nose burying in her hair and he inhaled sharply. “I don’t sleep much, wife.”

“Belle,” she insisted, though she did not turn around. She kept a baleful eye on the bed, leaning down slightly to touch the rich fabric of the quilt. Her skirts brushed over her husband’s hip and his grip on her tightened. Too late, Belle remembered how the horses coupled in the fields, and she grew immediately still.

A taloned finger traced across her spine, starting at the nape of her neck and slowly winding down until it met the place where their bodies brushed against each other. “No magic means this will be very...carnal,” he said to the back of her head. “Is that what you want?”

Belle nodded hurriedly, swallowing slightly. “I want it to just be us,” she admitted. “No ghosts, no magic, no stories.”

She straightened, turning to face him. He backed her up until her knees hit the side of the bed, pushing one arm of her gown down to her elbow, and then the other. The cool air that hit her suddenly exposed breasts was jolting, but not more so than the feeling of his eyes on her flesh.

“I am not a kind man,” he told her, fingers flexing by his side. “This will not be loving or painless. It will not be anything more than instinct and the blind pursuit of release, but I can grant you pleasure, wife, if you allow me.”

“Belle,” she breathed, and lifted her chin to him in defiance.

“Belle,” he agreed, but he did not kiss her. Instead, his hands went to her breasts, small but firm, and squeezed. The feeling was not inherently unpleasant, so Belle pressed into his touch, curious as to the tightening in her nipples and the way her mouth suddenly went dry.

He did not seem to notice her anymore, too busy exploring the way her chest colored at his touch. His sharp nails grazed her flesh, tantalizing but also prickling. Goosebumps erupted over her arms, as he took one into his mouth, sucking at it like a newborn.

Belle blinked, but did not pull away. She watched entranced at the dark head, though her fingers felt boneless at her sides. She could only stand there, witless as he supped at her barren breast.

Without warning, he suddenly straightened. He pushed her backwards, and she fell onto the bed. He followed, straddling over her knees as he hiked her dress up to her stomach. He growled something, and the next thing, the sound of ripping fabric filled the room.

“Husband!” Belle cried, struggling to sit up. “What are you doing?”

He ignored her, throwing handfuls of fabric onto the ground beside the bed, until the whole front of the gown was torn and shredded. It looked as if she had been mauled by an animal. Eyes wide, Belle looked to her husband, who seemed rather amused by this new look.

“I like it better like this,” he purred, moving up her body to where her breasts were pushed up by the dress bodice. He leaned down and bit the top of one, gently but firm enough to leave a mark. The next few minutes were like that. He would be at first gentle, worshipful even, and then the darkness would erupt and he would take what he wanted firmly in hand. He suckled at her neck, biting the soft skin, licking her pulse point and then bruising her with the force of his desire.

Belle felt utterly adrift. One moment, she felt her skin was too tight to breath, the next, she was wincing, pushing at him slightly to wordlessly tell him to stop. Sometimes he did, sometimes he did not, but when he pinched at her nipple too hard and ignored her protests, Belle sat up and shoved him off.

“Ow!” she complained, grabbing the overly sensitive bud. “That hurt!”

His eyes were slits as he stared at her from the middle of the bed. She glared back, and then reached over and began to push his jacket off him. He sat there immobile for a moment, before he moved to help her. With his help, she quickly had him to just his breeches, but when he moved to unlace them, she stilled his hand.

She was not quite ready for that yet. She took in his chest, hands splaying across his flat stomach where the skin was golden and flush where her hand pressed. She followed the path of his muscles to his chest, where his own nipples tightened under her stare. She bent her head to one, and gently pressed a kiss to it. It was firm and tight, and a sudden boldness made her lick at it, only to be pushed back down to the bed. Her plan to give the gander exactly what he had given the goose waylaid completely by her husband’s impatience.

She blinked up at the canopy as he moved to cover her, pressing a feverish kiss to her chin as his hands raked over her tattered gown. More fabric ripped and fell away, and his fingers were suddenly pushed against her sex.

Belle opened her mouth to protest, but he anticipated this. His mouth swallowed her words, his lips insistent against her own as his fingers explored her. Her sex was wet, and his fingers slipped through the curls between her thighs with ease. His kiss grew halting as Belle alternatively tightened and melted at the odd feelings emanating from between her thighs.

She tore away, breathless as she tried to struggle up to her elbows to see what he was doing. “No magic,” she panted, feeling foolish for no reason whatsoever. “You promised.”

“I did no such thing,” he leered, “ but this, this is not magic.”

  
At this angle, she could see his claws slipping over the pink folds, and her breath caught her throat as it grazed over a particularly sensitive spot. At the sound she made, he repeated the gesture and Belle’s head lolled backwards as she tried to concentrate on what was happening.

This was nothing like what the wives had whispered about, Belle though as her husband continued his machinations. He seemed lost in it as much as she was, eyes locked on her body as her hips buckled beneath him. The wives had told stories about the pain of it, the discomfort, the awkwardness, the embarrassment.

The maids had whispered other stories, about passion and heat, about love and need.

But this did not fit either of those, and Belle was too distracted to piece together why.

For hs part, her husband stilled his fingers as abruptly as he had started. Belle made a unladylike noise but quickly silenced it as her husband came back to hover over her.

His face was stony, his pupils blown so dark that Belle could see her reflection in his odd golden eyes. She nodded, knowing what he was asking without actually speaking. His hand disappeared from her, and she watched as he unlaced his breeches. His fingers moved quickly over the complex ties, and when he pushed them off his hips, his member sprang free.

Like the rest of him, his groin was hairless, but Belle barely noticed that oddity. She was too busy staring at his cock, nearly purple despite his golden skin. Belle did not make any noises of protest, or curiosity, but closed her eyes, and braced for the pain she knew was coming.

He shifted above her, spreading her legs roughly as he could not wait any longer. Belle tensed, only to have a groan torn from her as the head of his cock brushed against the spot that he had been toying with moments ago. He repeated the gesture and Belle, to her dismay, found herself grinding down against him, seeking something unfathomable.

“Belle.”

She opened her eyes, more confused at anything at the brusque tone of his voice. For a moment, he held her gaze, his cock rubbing against her core as she bit down on her lip to keep from saying something ridiculous like please.

The next time he withdrew away from her, Belle was too busy anticipating the next burst of sensation that she did not tense up. So, she cried out in surprise when he thrust deep inside of her, and nearly hit her head against his chest as she jerked upright.

There was pain, but it was more a discomfort than anything. Her body struggled to adjust to him, and her face contorted, trying to accustom herself to this odd feeling. He did not move, but easer her backwards before he reached down between them. His fingers dabbed at where they were joined, brushing the folds of her sex almost reverently. This was pleasurable, and Belle relaxed an inch or two more.

He lifted his fingers from beneath them and held it up to the light. A dull liquid dribbed down his finger, falling onto her stomach where her gown was ripped wide. Belle’s breath came in short pants, as her husband remained buried deep inside her and her maiden’s blood coated them both.

“Your name, husband,” she said, calling him back to her from wherever he was. “I would have it.”

He looked to her, and his eyes looked almost brown for a moment. “Rumplestiltskin,” he told her, and then he pulled out of her and thrust back with one smooth motion.

Belle cried out, but he did not abate his pace. She gritted her teeth, and lay back, looking up the curtains of the bed. To her surprise, the pain began to abate, and a friction began to build in it’s place. As if aware, her husband suddenly loomed back over her, his hands going to her knees.

With little grace, he pushed them to her shoulders, and Belle, so taken aback, let him. At this change, his angle deepened, and Belle’s mouth fell open as his hips hit against her rear end, his cock rubbing some secret place inside her that made her wiggle and squirm wantonly beneath him.

“No magic,” she groaned, eyes fluttering as he slowed his speed, rolling his hips as he pulled out only to slide back inside her seconds later.

“No magic,” he told her, leaning down until his face hung just over her’s. “This is desire. This is what it feels like to be a wife, to give yourself completely to me.”

Belle wanted to tell him she had done no such thing, that she was very much still her, but he moved just an inch to the right and she forgot everything but the need running rampant through her bones. She angled her upper chest until she leaned up to press her lips to his, not wanting him to see her face as she started to unravel.

This proved wise, because his hand disappeared between them once again, found the treacherous, traitorous, wonderful spot between her legs and Belle fell backwards with a cry as his name tumbled from her lips.

He repeated the rubbing sensation, thrusting mindlessly without grace or rhythm, and Belle’s entire body shuddered and fell away as she repeated his true name, half incredulous, half in praise.

She did not know how long she lay there, dazed but when she came back to herself, her husband was still between her legs, grunting and thrusting into her body. Her body was tingling, but the sensation between her legs was growing uncomfortable and she swatted at his hand, pushing it away from her. He did not stop his thrusting though, and Belle let her head fall to the side as she tried to inhale normally.

His fingers gripped her chin, snapping her head back to him. She cried out, but he did not let go, looking deep into her face as he pushed himself deeper inside her. She understood, and nodded, but his fingers tightened until she felt blood trickling down her chin onto her chest.  
Belle tipped her head down to alleviate the pain, and his thumb slipped into her mouth.

She instinctively closed her mouth upon it, lest it slip down into her throat, and he shuddered, jerking shallowly into her as his seed spilled into her. The feeling made her gasp, and he jerked his hand from her as he fell to the side, his member slipping out of her, smaller and soft as it flopped against his thigh.

She lay there, staring at him as he sat there beside her. Her chin stung and her body was so weak she couldn’t move a muscle to even wipe the blood.

“What story shall they tell of this I wonder?” Rumplestiltskin said to himself, looking down at the blood and seed coating his thighs.

Those same liquids were cooling on her thighs and Belle twitched uncomfortably. He looked over at her, and waved a languid hand, and in the next moment, her skin was as clean as it had been when she stepped from her bath. Sweat, cum, blood, all gone as the magic whispered against her skin, laughing as she shivered, her body still too raw. She was too bone tired to complain.

He swung his legs off the far side of the bed, and stood, his ass visible for a brief moment before the curtains closed behind him, hiding him from view. Belle lay there, unmoving and heard the door open, and then close.

Belle’s hand moved slowly to her stomach, and let her eyes close as exhaustion finally, blissfully overtook her.

She had done her duty.

Only time would tell if it had been enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Eek! Hope you enjoyed! A lot happened, but the big take away is...they did it. they totally did it. Bow Chicka Wow Wow! 
> 
> Love to hear your thoughts, and only 45 more kudos till 500! (EEK!)


	16. The Siren

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Twenty-Eighth Night

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In honor of the Story Teller receiving a Best AU nomination for the third year in a row as well as snagging a nomination for Best Dark One, I figured it was time to put my nose back to the grindstone. Enjoy!

There was blood on the sheets.

Her maiden’s blood was smeared across the once pristine sheets and her thighs were coated in her own blood. The windows were barricaded with brocade drapes just as the rest of the castle so Belle did not know how long she had dozed. She had only awoken due to a persistent niggling of her bladder. Her whole body had protested her awakening, sore and aching from her recent journey into matrimony. It had taken all of her strength to roll herself out of the warmth of the downy comforter to search for a chamber pot.

Her husband’s rooms lay mostly in shadows but the always helpful castle had provided a candelabra after she stubbed her toes on the four poster. After relieving herself, she had gone to crawl back into the great bed when the candlelight had revealed the damage.

“Wife?”

Belle flinched at his voice. Fitting he would choose now of all moments to rejoin her in the marriage bed. “Husband,” she greeted. She did not turn to meet him. Her current position blocked his view of the mattress. “I...I trust you are well?”

He snorted. “I am not unwell,” he acquiesced. “What are you doing standing there like that? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

Belle hurriedly lowered the candelabra as he approached but it was too late. His eyes swept past her to the gore on his sheets. His jaw went tight. “I can explain,” she said hurriedly as her stomach twisted in dread. “Some women bleed more the first time-”

He grabbed the wrist holding the candelabra and spun her. Off balance, she tipped forward into the bed face first. Her husband’s fingers delved into between her legs as if she was merely a cow in the field.

“Get off me!” Belle cried as she struggled against his grip. He plucked the candles out of her grip and the heat of the flames grazed against her rear end as he moved it to better see what he doing. Belle went immediately still as the candles flickered dangerously near to her exposed flesh but an odd shiver went through her as her husband continued to roughly part her thighs further apart. “Rumple-Rumplestiltskin,” she managed though her voice shook slightly. “You’re hurting me.”

He released her wrist though his other hand slipped inside her easily. Belle jerked against the mattress as sensations of raw pain and pleasure seared through her already exhausted body. His fingers were insistent as they probed inside of her and Belle hissed as his knuckles brushed against the swollen folds.

“Shush,” he murmured into her hair as he pulled her shoulders back. Too focused on his actions between her legs, Belle let him guide her upright until her back pressed against his clothed chest. Buttons poked the curve of her spine as his hand smoothed down her front until it was pressed flush against her lower belly.

Another rush of heat rode through her and some of the tension in her body eased slightly. She swallowed nervously as his breath tickled the skin of her neck. All too aware of him, Belle barely noticed her own body relaxing further until the back of her head bumped against his shoulder.

She made a small whimpering noise as his fingers stilled their exploration and his eyes cut down to where she lay against him. The gold did not reflect anything but something like amusement lightened his gaze. “Wife,” he whispered as he pulled his fingers free from her body. “Are you aware you are on your blood?”

At the loss of his fingers, Belle gained some slight mental capacity back. Her eyes focused on his fingers, dark and sticky with blood from her womb. Another wave of pain shot through her body as the realization hit home. If it was not for his arm around her waist, she might have collapsed back into bed in mortification.

She had lost count of the days here. The nights and days had blurred together into one long uncertainty. Belle ony had the stories to count and she had not even told one every night.

“You have been here for twenty days,” he told her without prompting. Belle nodded as she shied away from him. A dressing robe lay across the bed as if it had been there all along so Belle took it gratefully as her husband moved to the pitcher by the bed to wash off his hands. They spent the next few moments in silence.

Belle’s monthly courses were usually very regular but with everything...she had not even thought to miss them though if twenty days were correct, her blood was nearly two weeks late. She eyed the back of her husband as she flipped her hair out over the robe’s collar. Had last night...reminded her body that she was indeed a woman?

Her husband patted his hands dry as he studiously avoided her gaze. “I’ll leave you to your sick bed,” he said curtly when he had finished. “Try not to bleed all over that rug. I’m fond of it.”

Belle made an affronted noise. “How dare you.”

He raised a brow, too startled to remember to avoid her glare. “What did I do?”

“You- you- you embarrassed me!” Belle threw at him as she tugged the gown sash closed. “A woman’s courses are nothing but natural!”

He stared at her as if she had grown a second head. “Well of course they are,” he replied.

It was her turn to blink. “Then, why are you acting as if I’ve suddenly come down with witch’s warts?”

“I was under the impression ladies took to sick beds when they bleed,” he murmured as one clawed hand rose to stroke her side. “Was I mistaken?”

Her body betrayed her once more as the tightening in her belly eased at the warmth of him. She tilted her chin up though she did not bat his hand away from where it was toying with the sash bow. “I have been a woman since I was twelve,” she told him. “I do not need to lay in a bed all week like some shrinking damsel. If you’ll provide some rags, I’ll be able to go about my day as normal, thank you.”

She did not need to turn to know there would be fresh linen cut up and waiting for her on the bed when she turned. The castle’s odd magic breezed against the back of her ankles as it went to work stripping the bed. Her husband remained by the basin as he measured her from across the room.

“You would what then?” he finally asked. “Return to the library?”

“Perhaps,” Belle said stubbornly as a yawn threatened to crack her jaw open. She resisted it though the idea of crawling back into the warm bed to spend the day there did sound heavenly, she had already made her bed so to speak.

He smiled that crocodile grin of his. “Or would you rather return to bed?”

She narrowed her eyes at him. “I’m not tired.”

“Who said anything about being tired?”

Her whole body flushed at his tone. The tightening sensation in her lower belly was not the usual pain of her courses but something altogether promising. “We can’t do that,” Belle said breathlessly as something sticky and wet gathered between her thighs.

“Can’t or won’t?” Before she could answer, he giggled. “No, I suppose there’s no time for that today. I have plenty of other things to take care of then your libido, dear wife.” Belle opened her mouth to argue but he swept past her towards the door as if she wasn’t there. “You’ll probably be more comfortable in your own rooms.”

With a click of his fingers, the damnable smoke whisked her away before she could do so much as protest a single syllable.

\--

The week of her courses passed without incident.

Her husband did not appear once though she could sometimes hear him in the castle. Whenever she tried to find him, he had vanished by the time she arrived. Rooms were left with wheel still spinning, books open to a page, fires burning and tea still steaming but no husband.

Torn between amusement and disgust, Belle gave up by the end of her third day. The castle provided baths, linens and some powders that alleviated her headaches as well as heating stones for under her mattress. It was a complete change from her days down in the dark dungeon.

Her nightmares faded as her time above ground grew longer though her dreams were still shattered, odd fragments of memories and faint ideas. Jefferson had told her the castle used her dreams in payment of its magical assistance and she was left to wonder if it had grown tired of years and years of fears and tears of its female occupants.

Determined to keep her wits about her, Belle took to the library. She discovered parchment and quills and began to keep a journal of sorts. She jotted down her memories of her first few days in the dungeons, her time with Jefferson and with cheeks red, her belated marriage night and the following aftermath.

In the margins, she wrote the names of the stories she had told those nights. The Crystal Queen, the Cricket and the Woodcutter’s Children as well as the others. She included Jefferson’s tale...though she called it a different name.

“What are you doing?”

She did not look up from her writing. “I’ve started a journal,” she said evenly.

“A diary?”

She smiled to herself. “No, not as intimate as that. Simply a way to note the passage of days, discoveries around the castle, those sorts of things.”

He moved to the far side of the desk to peer down at it. Belle did not make a move to hide the fresh ink, but continued her thoughts on the odd four legged suit of armour she had discovered in her daily walk around the castle. It was four doors to the left of the staircase down to the green room and three stories below the largest tower’s trapdoor.

“Is that a map?”

Belle nodded as her husband pulled her work free from under the large tome pressing it flat. Her rooms were marked clearly with a B and all her more interesting discoveries were noted with smaller letters to check against her journal. It was her fourth attempt today alone, as she kept remembering new places to add to it.

“Why do you need a map?” her husband repeated.

Belle realized he had been speaking to her for a few minutes without her noticing. “Oh!” she said as she brushed some hair out of her eyes. “So, I remember where I’ve been.”

His lip curled. “You could just ask.”

Belle shook her head. “What fun would that be?” He opened his mouth as if to protest the idea of living in the Dark Castle was considered fun but Belle stood before he could find his tongue. “Tea?”

While they had been talking, the castle had rolled a tea cart into their midst without so much as a squeak. Belle had only noticed when the smell of spice cakes and cinnamon had reached her nose.

Her husband did not deign to respond so Belle poured her own cup before returning back to her seat. He stood where she left him though his glare did nothing more than remind her of his presence. His usual anger was always heralded by magic and the castle was as calm and peaceful as it had been all week.

“This is wrong.”

Belle looked up to find him scowling at her map as if had personally offended him. The sight of it was so unexpected Belle giggled. The alien sound echoed off the books around them as they stared in surprise at each other. For the life of her, she could not remember if she had ever laughed in his presence.

Belle recovered first. She stood to lean across the desk and grab the parchment back from him. It slipped out of his loose fingers as his eyes darted to her bodice before back to her face. She had loosened the strings after her rather large lunch this afternoon and completely forgotten about it.

There was nothing to do about it so she did not bother to try. “What’s wrong with my map?” she asked politely, drawing his attention back to the matter at hand. Her giggling like a freshly flowered girl, and him staring down her bodice! Honestly, if he didn’t terrify her to her core, and he didn’t detest her, it would almost be flirtatious.

“You’ve got the library on the wrong floor,” he told her. “We’re on the fifth floor, not the third.”

Belle wrinkled her nose in thought as she did some quick mental math. “No,” she said after a pause. “Dungeons, Ground Floor, then two, three, four landings.”

“My private quarters are on the fifth floor,” he said with a smug grin. “Unless you have access to them, you don’t even notice the landing.”

“I’ve been to your rooms.”

“Through magic,” he reminded her with a wiggle of his fingers. “You cannot simply walk into them.”

Belle shot him an annoyed side glare as she regarded her day’s work. She had been rather proud of this attempt. “Are there any more surprises?” she asked with a sigh.

The tingling of magic was her only response. Belle took an instinctive step backwards but did not have the foresight to drop her map or grab her tea. This meant when the smoke cleared, she was in her husband’s rooms.

The bed was as large as she remembered it though the sheets were clean once more and the quilt gone. The room was bathed by candles, candles on every imaginable surface as the wax dripped slowly down to pool in puddles.

Her husband plucked the map out of her hand but Belle yelped as it came dangerously close to an open flame. “Careful!” she admonished him. “It’s my only copy left.”

The tingling of magic heightened at the nape of her neck as her husband’s face grew dark. “Wife,” he said in a voice as sharp as a knife. “I am growing tired of that tone.”

Belle crossed her arms over her chest. “Well, I am growing tired of your childish behavior,” she replied back. The magic intensified as it crawled over her shoulder to trade the hollow of her throat. She resisted the urge to shudder by tilting her chin higher. “You have avoided me for a week after our union and then reappear to demand your rights as a husband while I’m working?”

The candlelight flickered as if something great had passed over them. Inexplicably, a great shadow rose around her husband’s frame and it bore down on his shoulders until he loomed over her. The magic tightened around her, pressing her down in a suffocating hold. Belle instinctively reached out in supplication but as her hand met her husband’s own outstretched hand, her fingers curled around it instinctively.

The magic broke around them and she sagged against him in relief as air poured back into the room. The candles swelled as the air returned and in one brief moment, it was as bright as day.

“Rumple-Rumplestiltskin,” Belle managed as she drew a deep breath into her lungs. “Don’t do that to me. Please. It’s frightening.”

He did not move to put his arms around her nor step away. He simply stood as still as a statue as Belle slowly uncurled her handfuls of his shirt. His moods were as mercurial as a babe’s, but he responded to her honesty. Whether it was her honest fear or her honest anger, it was the raw emotions the magic fed off.

With a tentative motion, Belle dropped her arms to circle his waist until she hugged her husband gently. She laid her head back over his heart though every muscle was tensed as if waiting for a blow.

“You mustn’t...you mustn’t speak to me like that,” he said to her. His voice was muffled by the sound of his heart in his chest. It was beating as rapidly as her own. “I am your husband.”

“And I am your wife,” Belle reminded him.

He plucked her arms from his person with a scoff. “Sold to me by your father against your will. An offering to sate the beast.”

She knew he was right. She had accepted her lot here as a sacrifice for the greater good and there was nothing between them more than a contract. She wanted the safety of her people and he wanted a child. They were simply stuck with each other in the bargain.

“I may not have chosen my own fate. You, husband, made a deal of blood and bone with my father for life and death. I did not get to make a choice then but I made it the night I joined you in our bed.”

Belle took a step forward until she stood face to face with him once more. His eyes were dark but they tracked her across the distance with a wary knowledge. There was magic at her feet and in the air around her but it did not press against her or seek to silence her. It listened. It waited.

“Till the day I die,” Belle repeated. “You will have a wife.”

“You will not win your freedom through pretty words,” he said in an eerily calm voice. “The others tried. Supplication, Cunning, Compassion, Hatred, Violence, Grief, Hysteria. I have seen every range of the human spectrum, little wife. Your words are wind.”

Belle shook her head. “Perhaps to someone like you,” she acknowledged. “Could you at least let me try?”

“Try?”

Belle took his hand where it hung by his side and gently laid it over her lower belly. His golden gaze was speckled with brown in the light of the candles. The hollows of his cheeks and the grooves of his lips were as deep as the river gorges and steep as the cliffs of the sea. Belle reached up to trace one before the light caught the small scar on the base of her thumb from where he had bit her a few week before.

“Let me give you what you desire,” Belle whispered. She did not say the last bit of her prayer though it hung heavy in her mind.

Let me be the one to break the curse.

“Shall I tell you a story?”

A chuckle escaped him. “There is no need for that ploy anymore,” he said as he slowly pulled her bodice strings free one by one of their binding. “I have already had you once, little wife, and I plan to have you again and again.”

When his lips descended on her own, Belle met them with a fierce determination and a brief burst of triumph.

\--

Spent, he rolled off her. The juxtaposition of his body heat’s departure and the ever present chill of the castle caused goosebumps to raise all across Belle’s exposed chest. She shuddered slightly which drew her husband’s eye over his shoulder.

“Are you...well, wife?”

Boneless in an odd haze of embarrassment and satisfaction, Belle nodded. Their second coupling had been much quicker than their first but her husband had already shown her how to discover her own pleasure. As he had rutted on top of her, his eyes closed as he sought release, Belle had remembered the circlings of his hand and had tried them with her own hand.

His response at her boldness had been animalistic. His entire face had grown grim and determined as Belle quivered at her own hesitant touches. He had flipped her over as if she was a pillow to drive into her from behind. She had been so taken aback she had nearly lost all pleasure in the proceedings until he had growled a warning into her ear to continue her ministrations and the mixture of his needy growl and her own desire had taken her to the edge quickly.

“I am well,” she replied as her cheeks heated at the memory from moments ago. Despite her languid state, a tickle danced along her spine. Her husband nodded as if distracted and moved to stand. Belle startled reach out to stop him. “Wait!”

He stilled. “Wife?”

“Belle.”

He shook his head. “It’s late. You’ll want to sleep.”

“Not really,” Belle lied. “How about a story?”

“A story?”

“Just until I’m tired.”

He did not believe her. “You desire my company?”

Belle hesitated. It was a mistake.

He abruptly stood from the bed. “I am not here to keep you entertained, wife.”

All the candles in the room flickered dangerously as Belle pulled the sheet over her exposed chest. Her husband’s back stayed to her but the lines of his shoulders were tense and rigid. One by one, the candles began to blow out as magic curled out into the room.

“Sleep,” he said as the room grew darker and darker, “and think of your choices.”

When the last candle blew out, the room plunged into darkness. Belle could not see her own hand but she knew her husband had gone. The magic, however, pooled on the floor and dripped down the walls. Belle burrowed deeper into the empty bed and though she knew no one was listening, she began to tell a story.

\--

_Past the sea of time and the mountains of tomorrow, there is a small kingdom. It is so small that there is nothing of interest there except a small plaque in the tip top part of the kingdom that proclaims a traveler can cross through from the Left Lands straight into the Right Realm in less than four hundred and forty two steps._

_Here in the Middle Marshes, there was a lake. It was large enough to support a fleet of rowboats but not quite big enough to dock a merchant ship. Not that it mattered. Not one soul in the Middle Marshes would so much as skip a rock over its surface much less swim in it._

_It was here on the shores of the lake that gave the land it’s name where a traveler stopped. He was on his two hundred and forty sixth step when he saw the shine of water in the distance and desperate for a respite from counting, he headed away from the trail to seek adventure._

_When he came to the great shores, the waters were still and calm. He stood there for a time and just as he turned to leave, a woman emerged from the depths._

_Her hair was seaweed and her teeth were pearls. When she spoke, her voice was muffled as if she was underwater still. Still, she spoke of his bravery, of his fearlessness and his courage. He came down to the water’s edge to hear her voice clearer, to be near to this vision, and when his toe touched the still water, she grabbed him and dragged him beneath the depths._

_As it happens, this traveler was not some farm boy, but a great knight from the Right Realm on a mission of peace to the Left Lands. When the knight failed to appear at the court, the Left Lands grew fretful something may have happened to him and they might be blamed, so they sent an envoy of their own, a great diplomat to explain the situation._

_As this man crossed, he too found the water’s edge though he did so by accident. As he gazed out in confusion over the lake, a man emerged from the depths._

_His head was bald and his eyes were as deep as the sea. He reached out his hand to the envoy and spoke words of pleasure, of love, and carnal knowledge. The envoy moved to touch the shining skin of this king but his hand was seized and he too was dragged down, down, down._

_As the weeks passed and both these important men stayed missing, the Middle Marshes Queen grew uneasy. Both countries on either side of her shaked their spears and threatened war and though they had no qualm with the Marshes, it was their land that would be destroyed should it come to war._

_So, the Queen slipped out of her castle in disguise and went to the small village where the two travelers had last been seen. Midway Market lay smack in between the two other kingdoms, and the visitors had made enough of an impression for the people to tell their Queen which way they had gone off._

_So, the Queen found the lake by no mistake but by careful searching._

_Like before, the waters parted to reveal a figure though this time it was neither male or female. A siren stood on the still waters of the lake to regard its visitor. The Queen’s disguise did not fool the creature as it traded in subterfuge._  
_As quick as a bolt of lighting, the siren transformed into the knight and then with barely a pause the grand envoy before it changed one last time into the Queen herself in her robes and jewels._

_The water reflected them so four queens stood there in the evening sun. Two grand and terrible and two pitiful and tired. The illusion greater than the truth._

_The Queen was alone so she sat down on the shore and the siren followed suit though it was considerably harder in a royal gown than trousers. They sat their side by side as the moon rose overhead and talked about things such as loneliness, love, and loss._

_When the sun rose the next morning, the famous knight walked the Queen of the Middle Marshes back to the edge of the Right Realm. He announced his decision to serve a new master, and though confused, his old liege gave him his blessing and led his great army back home._

_Then, in four hundred and forty six steps, the Queen and the Envoy arrived at the border of the Left Lands where they met the whole court on their way to battle. The Envoy explained he was studying at the Middle Marshes great libraries and planned to stay to learn the ways of the world. Though saddened at the loss of war, the court returned back to their halls to whittle away the time with frivolities._

_When the Queen returned to her own court, she did so with a new ruler at her side. They ruled the Middle Marshes together, side by side, until the Queen’s death of old age. Then, and only then, did the siren return to the lake that gave the land its name._

_It is said if a traveler comes to the edge of the waters, and spends an evening with themselves, they will walk away with wisdom, courage and love._

\--

By the time the last words of the story faded away, the magic had as well.

Belle breathed in a deep sigh of relief and only then, did she sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, a very bastardized version of What Happened to Frederick but I always thought Abigail was 10x cooler in that then Charming. (I mean rewatch it, he has a lot of stupid ideas while Abigail is just cool about everything) so I changed it up a bit. Now, instead of a story about true love's tests, it's about an inner battle and what you gain when you confront your own fears and dreams. 
> 
> Which fits in nicely with what Belle is going through in this chapter. There's not a lot of taming the beast in this story loves, but there is definite growth. Belle is growing braver and maybe just maybe she's starting to notice it's not her husband she has to fear...but the magic that lives within him...


	17. The Dwarf & Fairy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Twenty Ninth Day

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so happy to tell you dear readers that The Story Teller won Best Dark One in the 2017 T.E.A's! I'm incredibly honored by this and thanks to everyone and anyone who voted.

The fifth floor was nothing like Belle could have imagined. After she had left the relative safety of her marriage bed, she wound up roaming the dark and dusty hallways of the mysterious fifth floor searching for a way back to her own rooms. There were tapestries of battles stained with blood, suits of armor missing limbs and flickering candelabras fizzling along the wall . She tried her best to ignore the eyes of the paintings which seemed to stare down at her.

Something moved in the shadows ahead as a door creaked open as if it had expected her but it was not the castle’s familiar presence. Whatever lurked in this secret place had no more concern for her than her husband. Belle moved onward through the maze of morbid monstrosities until she nearly tripped over one armor’s left greave. It stuck out at a rusted angle that appeared more sinister than accidental.

The further she went, the heavier her husband’s magic hung in the air. It stuck to Belle’s skin and clutched at her hair as if to pull her back. Every instinct told her that this force meant her harm that she should yield to it or flee from it but Belle pushed ahead. An anger began to burn her fear away as she hurried faster down the long corridor.

Something tickled the back of her neck. Belle swung around, half expecting her husband, but no one was there. A faint whispering hummed in her ears, and though she could not understand what it said, it was clear it was not benevolent.

“I’m looking for the staircase,” Belle declared loudly enough for her voice to echo along the empty corridor. “Where is it?”

A door swung open just ahead of her. Belle could have sworn it had not been there a moment ago. As if protest the door’s appearance, a looming presence gathered on her shoulders. Trusting the castle, Belle darted into the stairwell as the magic snapped along the back of her heels as it tried to catch at her skirts. Belle barely made it past the door before it slammed shut behind her. “Well,” she huffed as she caught her breath. “I suppose that’s why that floor’s forbidden.”

Straightening her hair back into place as best she could, Belle opted to head downstairs toward the kitchen. She would soon be in need of a chamber pot but her throat was as dry as a bone. Besides, as her stomach was currently reminding her, she had a rather gone to bed without supper. She calmed herself with the idea of tea and fruit tarts, though the anger and fear still rolled uncomfortably in her chest.

When Belle arrived at the kitchen, it was already occupied.

“Brainless!”

Jefferson sat beside the stove as if chatting with an old friend. He had a cup of something dark and aromatic in his hand and his top hat balanced precariously on his knee. With his feverish skin and his red rimmed eyes, he looked a proper madman on the loose. Belle nearly fell over her feet to throw her arms around him in greeting.

“Oh, Jefferson!” she exclaimed into his shoulder. “How wonderful to see you!”

He patted her awkwardly on the back with his free hand as the other tried to balance his drink without spilling it all over her back. Belle gave him one more squeeze, as unladylike as it may be, before releasing him.

“Coffee?” he offered with a wave towards a pot on the stove that smelled faintly of burning pitch. Belle scrunched up her nose as she considered but mercifully the kitchen took pity on her. In a blink, a teapot appeared beside the pot and began to steam.

“Wouldn’t hurt her to try,” Jefferson huffed at the stove as if personally offended. “It does wonders for one’s energy levels.”

“I don’t think you need any more energy,” Belle said tactfully as she pulled a teacup down from its cabinet. Jefferson shrugged before he took a hearty swig of his beverage. His face contorted into a pleased grimace as he swallowed the dregs. With a wink, he poured himself another glass just as the teapot sang out.

Within minutes, Belle settled down on a stool across from Jefferson with a cup of tea and some jelly biscuits Jefferson had liberated from his coat pocket. As long as she picked the lint of them, they were quite good.

“So, tell me, Brainless,” Jefferson said with a grin, “how is ole Dragonhide?”

Rumplestiltskin, her mind whispered traitorously, his name is Rumpelstiltskin.

“My husband is well,” Belle told him. “Are you here to see him?”

Jefferson shook his head. “Just passing by,” he replied. “Thought I’d stop in and see you were...faring.”

He laced the word with enough innuendo that a deaf man would have understood his meaning.. “I do not know what you mean, Master Hatter,” she said pointedly as she reached for her tea cup.

His brows furrowed in puzzlement. “Haven’t you played nug a nug?”

At Belle’s incredulous stare, he continued. “Fadoodled? Join giblets?” He wracked his mind before adding, “made feet for children’s stockings?”

“Jefferson!”

He simply grinned back in relief. “So, you did understand my little story!” he said as proud as punch. “I knew you would.”

“Can we not talk about this?” Belle murmured under her breath as she shot a look over her shoulder. To her knowledge, her husband did not frequent this part of the castle too often but he seemed to have a knack of showing up at the worst possible times. Add Jefferson to the mix…

When she turned back around, Jefferson was inches away from her nose. He peered up at her as if searching for something in particular. Belle had to resist her own sigh of exasperation. “Gentleman do not leer,” she reminded him. “Nor do they huff and puff. They use their words to express their thoughts.”

“You’re not pregnant.”

Belle put her teacup down. She had almost forgotten how direct Jefferson could be. “As you are not my priest nor my midwife,” Belle said with a sniff. “I do not see how that concerns you. Perhaps it’s best if you took your leave.” She was bluffing of course. She had no interest in chasing away Jefferson, no matter how uncouth he behaved. She was desperately happy to see him.

“Oh, come now,” Jefferson said with a wink. “I specifically came all this way with the Doctor of all people, just to see you.”

“The Doctor?”

Jefferson’s lips curled back in a tight smile. “Oh. Yes. Didn’t I mention? He had plans to come see Master Spinner, and I just thought to myself...Mistress Belle might fancy a cup of joe…”

His presence in the kitchen began to make sense. “Why! You’re hiding down here!” Belle exclaimed. “Whatever for?”

He grinned weakly. “I may have been told to never darken this door again…”

“He didn’t!”

He waved a hand about as if to dismiss her concerns, a clear mockery of her husband. “Oh, it’s just his way. Fire and brimstone, smoke and mirrors.”

Belle privately thought her husband was more than empty threats but she kept that to herself. “Well, you are my guest,” she told him as she sat back down beside him. She reached out to grasp his hand in her’s and gave it a light squeeze. “As long as I am here, the doors are open to you.”

He smiled back at her, his grin nearly taking up his entire face. “Of course they are, Brainless,” he laughed. “How did you think I got in?”

He began to laugh uncontrollably at this, leaving Belle to blink at him in some confusion. Whatever the joke was, it went over her head entirely. She gently touched the hat still upon his knee in fond remembrance. “I never got a chance to thank you,” she said quietly. “For everything you did for me.”

He gently drew the hat away from her and placed it neatly on his head. His wild curls were crushed against his forehead as his fevered eyes burned bright at her in the warm glow of the kitchen’s light. “It was my pleasure,” he said solemnly and for a brief moment, a trick of the light reduced the fevered flush of his skin and he looked wholly sane. He quickly ruined it as a rather loud and rude noise emanated from his seat chair and Belle had to scurry backwards to avoid the noxious fumes.

“Sorry! Sorry!” he giggled as Belle’s eyes began to water. “Coffee gives me awful gas.”

\--

They retired to the library, though Belle did make a quick stop to her rooms to freshen up. By the time she returned to her sanctuary, Jefferson had commandeered a ladder by the west windows and was busy examining the top shelves.

Not wanting to startle him, Belle settled into her usual spot by the fire. Her latest book waited for her as well as a plate of buttered toast and a teapot wrapped in a cozy. She murmured thanks to the castle as she settled into her seat but spent her time watching Jefferson poke and prod in the stacks instead of retiring to her own book.

She had wondered what Jefferson had been up to into those days when she had still been living in a dungeon. He had spent plenty of time with her, but there was an unavoidable curiosity when he had been away. She had not dreamed of asking him then, and since she had been freed from the dreadful place, she had not thought of it again.

Jefferson continued to search through the tallest shelves and occasionally pulled a book free, shook it vigorously before shoving it back into place without much grace. Belle cringed a few times but remained silent as she munched on her late breakfast. Between the warmth of the fire and the soft noises of Jefferson’s muttering, she soon was lulled into a peaceful sleep that had evaded her all evening.

That is until something very solid dropped unceremoniously into her lap.

“Oh!” she exclaimed as she jerked back into a full state of consciousness. Her half asleep dreams tumbled away as insubstantial as wisps of smoke as Jefferson plopped down to sit at her feet. He criss crossed his legs beneath him as he peered up at her in excitement.

“Read that,” he told her with a nod of his head. His tophat stayed in place though it tilted forward until it nearly covered both his eyes. The object that had nearly startled her to death was a small book, a child’s ledger so worn and weathered it felt like a dream in her hands.

“What is that?” she asked as she flipped the book over. There was no title or author but a simple drawing of a pickaxe and a fairy wand crossed over each other in the center of the leather.

“A book,” Jefferson said with no attempt to veil his annoyance. “You owe me a story, remember?”

She shot him a look. Judging by the slight jiggling of his knees, he was very impatient for her to read it. She creased open the front cover carefully to find the paper yellowed with age but the ink still legible though faded to a light brown. “Wow,” Belle murmured as she traced the thin pages. “This must be centuries old.”

“Give or take,” Jefferson said with a shrug. “It was Old Dragonhide’s son’s.”

This did not come as a shock. A child had written on the front page in a shaky but determined hand “Baelfire” and beside it, a crude drawing of a spinning wheel. Belle traced the letters with her fingers as her mouth echoed the name though no words came out.

“How did you know about this?”

Jefferson had the decency to look guilty. “I found a room of it once upon a time, up there on the fifth floor.”

The memory of it still fresh in her mind, Belle shuddered. “You went to the fifth floor?”

Jefferson tapped his hat and Belle flushed. He did not need to say anything more, though his humor at her continued fumbling was obvious. “Just the once,” he added as Belle returned her attention to the book. “He caught me at it and I thought there and then I was a goner.” Before Belle could inquire more, he shook his head. “That’s another story. After that, he hid all the memories. I find little things here and there.”

His eyes shone mischievously and Belle had to resist the urge to swat him with the book. “You think I’ll start poking around looking for ghosts?” Belle sniffed. “I have no intention of disturbing the dead.”

“Oh, but who says you’ll disturb them?”

Belle ignored him as chills crept up her spine. She cleared her throat and flicked back to the start of the book. Whoever had written this had a good hand but there were blotches of ink as if they had to stop and think from time to time, uncertain of the next part of the story or perhaps thinking it up as they went along?

“Go on then,” Jefferson said softly from below her.

And so she did.

_Once Upon a Time, there lived a dwarf. Like his kind, he dwelled in the earth, ugly and short. He worked hard, toiling in the mines to gather precious stones but though his face was turned towards the shadows, his heart dreamed of the sun._

_For once every year, the dwarf would put all his hard work into a sacks on his back. Diamonds, emeralds and sapphires and any other beautiful discovery would be brought out into the sun to the market in the town below the mountain._

_The faeries came to the market to buy the precious stones to crush into fairy dust, the most precious thing in all the land. Its magic powers the world._

_The Dreamer looked forward to this day every year for it was the one day of the year he could see her….the beautiful fairy who lived in the clouds so high above him. She was as beautiful as the sea with hair like spun silk and eyes as bright as aquamarine._

_Every year, she came to his booth to buy his stones and every year he was too tongue tied to so much as speak a word to her but this time he had a plan. When she came to his booth, as beautiful as he remembered her, he asked her name._

_So astonished to hear his voice for the first time, the fairy giggled and the sound of it warmed his heart until he thought he might die from it._

_Her name was Milah, and at the moment, she gave him her name, she gave him hope. Too overjoyed to say another word, he gave her all his stones for free and for the rest of the day, he sat at the market empty handed._

_He worked twice as hard the next year. So, when he arrived at the market, everyone crowded around his booth in appreciation and he did a fine trade but he barely noticed. He was too busy looking for her._

_When she arrived at his booth, the sun was about to set. Seeing his wares empty, she frowned at him and it was as if an arrow pierced his heart._

_Did you save nothing for me?_

_With a wink, he unclenched his fist and every color stone fell forth from his palm into her outstretched hands. These, she traded for a kiss before disappearing back into the market. She left him with a promise to see him the next year._

_The Dreamer spent the next year searching for the perfect stone. He threw all the inferior ones away, ignored the ones that would have sold for a high dollar, until he found it. A diamond so beautiful and so perfect the sun itself would be jealous._

Here, Belle paused ever so slightly. In the same childish handwriting that had labeled the book Balefire’s, the owner had inserted his own note into the story. “You can do anything you dream.” Belle did not read this bit aloud but had to pull her eyes away to continue reading along though her mind stayed fixated on the simple motto throughout this next part.

_When the Dreamer finally found the stone, he spent the rest of the year perfecting it. He polished it, cleaned it, shaped it until it was just right. He did not eat. He could not sleep. He was no longer a mere dwarf but a man in love._

_And so, when he went to the market place, he had no booth. He simply waited for Milah to find him and when she arrived, he got down on his knees and handed her his heart and soul in exchange for her own and a gemstone._

_The love between a fairy and a dwarf had never happened before and they both knew they would face great challenges. So, they decided to buy a boat, sail the world, and spend the rest of their lives exploring the unknown world. Anything was possible. They were in love._

Belle flipped the page but found only ragged tears. Someone had ripped the next few pages completely out of the book entirely. “What in the world?” she murmured. “Who would do this to a book?”

“Can’t you guess?,” Jefferson sighed sadly. He had laid out beneath her couch, his head supported by his elbow. “I always wondered what the original ending was. It sounded like it would have been very happy.”

Belle did not need to ask what he meant. Newer pages had been sewn into the leather cover, still brittle with age, they were slightly different from the rest, a thicker fabric and a darker pen. The writing was spikier and surer as if the writer had not needed to collect his thoughts but let them fly free across the page.

“Go on,” Jefferson murmured. “Might as well find out how it ends.”

_Dwarves are not capable of love. It is how they are made. What the dwarf felt was nothing but a lie. When he took the fairy away from everything she had known and loved, he clipped her wings. He did not take her to see the world but hid her away in the mines and in the caves. She grew sad and resentful and the world lost its joy for them both._

_He belonged in the mines, hidden from the sun and the world. He was a twisted thing, there was no love in him, only the need to own and control beauty in all its own forms. She belonged in the sun and in his desperation to have her for himself, he took into the shadows._

_They dared to think they were special._

_It was a very long time before the fairy understood this. She spent years trying and trying, until finally she escaped back into the sun. She returned to the clouds and lived happily ever after._

Belle let the book drop to the floor. “How dare she...her son’s book…”

“I expect she was a quite a woman,” Jefferson said as he plucked the book from her feet. “Not much of a writer though.”

Belle bristled with rage. “His father wrote their son a beautiful love story and she- she ripped it away from them all. She rewrote the story to what? Make them feel sorry for her?”

“Didn’t work,” Jefferson said as he flipped through the pages. “Barely looks like the kid touched these pages.”

Belle would never know Baelfire or his mother but she could almost picture the spinner. His words spoke to her as if she had lived the story as well. His warm voice, his shy smile...his brows furrowed in concentration, his tongue peeking out from his teeth as he strained to write in the darkness by candle flame as his hand reached out from time to time to stroke his wife’s swollen belly-

She gasped as the image faded as quickly as it came. Her own hand went to her stomach as she tried to retrain the image of her husband as an idealistic dreamer...a man who had thought so little of himself but had loved so brightly he had never given up.

“Love is hope,” Belle whispered fiercely. “It may not last forever but it’s worth fighting for. This woman...she didn’t love him. She resented him.”

Jefferson’s eyes were on her left hand. The small weight there had grown so familiar that Belle had almost forgotten about it but it grew heavy as a stone around her neck. “Oh.”

“I always wondered how he afforded it,” Jefferson said as he sat up. HIs arms crossed over his knees. “Did he find it I wonder? Or saved up for all those years to afford it?”

The diamond sparkled in the light of the fire, reflecting crimson flames and blue eyes back up at her as if through a crystal ball. “Only the one” he had said…

“They’ll be finishing up soon,” Jefferson said quietly. He had found his feet and stood over her. He handed her the book before gently pulling her up from her seat. Her head spun and her ears rang as the image of her husband in all his dark glory mixed and faded in with her memory of the man in the darkness of his home, contentment and love stamped clear as day on his face.

Belle was left to wonder not for the first or the last time, who exactly she had married.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah, yes, Milah rears her head. And Belle learns her and Baelfire's name...which will be important in an upcoming chapter as know names are powerful.
> 
> Plus Jefferson is back! As well as the newcomer, the Doctor who we will meet next chapter. I do feel slightly bad that Rumple won for Best Dark One and in my next update, he's not in it at all. Sorry, Rum. Catch you on the next chapter.
> 
> So, what did you guys think about taking Grumpy & Nova's story and making it Rum's & MIlah's? Obviously the stones were threads and yarns and such, but I liked getting to show how Rum viewed himself and how love changed him and then getting to show how Milah viewed their story...
> 
> And how Belle viewed it as well. The Spinner is still a different person to her, but slowly she is starting to "marry" the two in her head. 
> 
> See you guys next time for the tale about little red riding hood/wolf!


	18. The Wolf in Sheep's Clothing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Twenty Ninth Night & Day Thirty

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would like to take this time to repeat- This Rumple is a very dark take on the character- if that makes you uncomfortable, please try one of my other stories such as The House Guest or The Gate. (Both feature Lacey but I promise my Lacey is not canon Lacey- okay mini plug over- back to the story)

Trailing behind, Jefferson continued to pull at his jacket collar. “It itches,” he complained when he caught her looking.The formal dinner jacket looked wholly out of character on Jefferson but the wardrobe had provided it alongside her own gown. Both were formal, more fitting for a visiting dignitary dinner than simple supper. Belle smothered a smile as she laced her arm through his to propel him forward. 

Rumpelstiltskin had been oddly absent throughout the day, though Jefferson assured her both he and the Doctor were still in the castle. When Belle had wondered what they were doing, Jefferson had gone slightly green and clutched at his own neck. Curious as she was, Belle resisted asking her friend if his own odd scar had anything to do with the Doctor. If anything, Jefferson was more close lipped about her husband’s visitor than he was on her husband himself. Tonight’s dinner was shaping up to be very different affair than she was accustomed to.

“Stop fiddling with it,” Belle said. She placed Jefferson’s free hand securely over her own where it rested in the crux of his arm. He sighed but still made an occasionally head twitch that made all the curls on his head dance about his ears. Belle lightly elbowed him as they neared the great hall. “Remember,” she said under her breath as they prepared to sail through the doorway, “no matter how much he huffs or puffs, ignore him.”

“Easy for you to say, Brainless,” Jefferson muttered. “He actually wants you around.”

Before Belle could reply, they stepped inside the great hall and stopped dead in their tracks. The chandeliers overhead blazed white with light so the grand hall was utterly free of shadows. The already long table seemed to have doubled in length. It groaned under heavy platters of meats and fruits, bread piled high on silver platters and soups simmering in great basins. Her stomach twisted in appreciation as the smells of the feast washed over them and even Jefferson took a step closer to the table despite his apprehension about showing his face to the master of the house.

It took Belle a moment to locate her husband among the candlesticks and towers of confections. He sat at his usual spot at the head of the table splendid in a great ornate robe of gold and scarlet. He gleamed in the candlelight as bright as any bonfire and his eyes burned as red as flame. Belle hastily looked away towards the far end of the table where his companion. A whole room lay between them.

Taking their appearance in stride, the stranger stood gracefully and made his way to her side as if he had been expecting her. “Jefferson, so nice of you to join us and ah...this must be your lovely wife, Master Monster.” The Doctor was the same height as Jefferson to a hair with similar coloring but that was where the resemblance ended. While Jefferson’s eyes were alive with a frantic energy and a warmth, the Doctor’s eyes were cold as ice and pierced straight through her. As Belle let him take her hand to press a kiss to, she could not help the shiver that went through her at the touch of his lips. They were as cold as the castle stones. He gave her a light lipped smile. “Allow me to introduce myself, Doctor Frankenstein, at your service, Madam.”

“Jefferson,” her husband said with no inflection from his seat. “I recall banishing you from my lands.”

Jefferson gave a nervous giggle but Belle placed a reassuring hand on his forearm. Unlike the Doctor, he radiated heat through his layers of formalwear. “Master Hopper is here at my invitation,” Belle said with an imperial lift of her chin. Frankenstein stayed at her side, peering down at her in interest though she had the oddest sensation he was not looking at her but examining her. “It is lovely to meet you, Dr. Frankenstein. Won’t you sit back down?”

He bowed stiffly in his long leather coat. The large silver buttons went down in two neat rows all the way to his knees though that was the only adornment on his person. He retook his seat at the end of the table and Jefferson hurried after him. Belle resigned herself to join her husband.

Rumpelstiltskin did not so much as look at her as she sat at the chair to his right. “I do not remember inviting you to join us for dinner,” he said as he reached for his glass of wine.

“I did not think I needed an invitation to my own table,” Belle answered. At the far end of the table, Jefferson heaped large amounts of goose and plum pudding onto his plate. He knocked over an entire bowl of greens which spilled onto the Doctor’s plate. The man barely noticed as he lifted his fork to his lips, chewed, swallowed and repeated en rote.

They continued to eat in silence. Jefferson happily babbled away across the room and his faint exclamations of delight or disgust at his dinner floated up to them in snippets. The Doctor made no noise whatsoever, not even a ringing of silver as his fork touched the plate or his goblet returned to the table. He made a habit of openly staring at Belle as if she was some interesting specimen. This had a dampening effect on her appetite despite the richness of the spread.

“Eat,” her husband said though his plate was untouched. “He’s simply curious. I have never let him see one of my wives, much less speak to one.”

As usual, Belle bristled at this careless mention of the brides. “ I don’t see why he couldn’t. Perhaps he might have seen to their health,” she replied crossly. Illness and age were constants in this world, surely even here in this place. “Perhaps a few of them might have lived longer if they had proper attention.”

Her husband arched a brow. “They were well taken care of. They wanted for nothing.”

The memory of that small room had not faded from her memory nor had the shock of losing everything she had ever known. Few of the ones who came before her had made the conscious choice to come here, and so she knew firsthand what they had gone through down there alone in the darkness.

“Locked in a dungeon with a chamber pot and a stone bed hardly qualifies as well taken care of,” Belle reminded him. “Scared out of their minds, and forced into a contract they neither understood nor wanted.”

The candles closest to them flared as if a great wind had blown through the room. Jefferson’s voice faded away and Belle forgot even the Doctor’s persistent gaze as her husband’s temper began to manifest in magic swirling around her slippered feet. This only fanned her own anger. It had been laying low, close to the surface all day from her ordeal the night before and her morning.

“They might have taken comfort in a doctor, or a confident,” Belle continued with no regard to her husband’s darkening face. “Someone besides the monster that appeared at their door every night to demand his right to their beds.”

“A deal is a deal,” he hissed through his crooked teeth. “The door was open to them.”

Belle laughed. It was cold and humorless and echoed in the silence of the hall. “Yes, it was. You made certain of it.”

“They had every chance. Our deal is quite simple. They were the ones who failed to meet the requirements. All I ask, if they possess the love of their husband-”

Belle stood, everything forgotten. Her chair toppled over behind her and the loud crash caused poor Jefferson to jump almost out of his own seat. She twisted the ring off her own finger and flung it at him. It thudded off his chest and clattered to the floor. He did not so much as flinch. “You mock the idea of love! Promising women freedom if they could find the way to your heart, all the while knowing it is lost. Even to you. You loved once upon a time and it soured you.”

Belle turned on her heel to storm out of the hall but something caught her by the upper arms. She twisted and it gripped tighter. “Let go of me this instant!” she declared. She turned to give her husband a kick in the shins but he still sat at the head of the table. Dark smoke held her in place, hanging thick in the air like a ghoul as it continued to tighten its hold on her.

“Leave us.”

Jefferson had gotten to his feet at some point but he did not dare come any closer. Frankenstein stood, dabbed his lips with his napkin and gave them both a solemn nod. “Wonderful to see you as always, Master Monster,” he said no sincerity. He did not say anything to Belle, but twisted to exit the room.

Belle’s eyes began to water as the pressure grew on her upper arms. The magic had her in its grasp at last and it seemed to be enjoying itself. Sparks lit across her exposed collarbone, the smoke almost alive with energy as it swelled and spun to encircle her. Jefferson took a step forward, and the magic twisted her arm so hard, Belle fell to her knees with a cry.

“Out!” Rumpelstiltskin exclaimed, his voice loud enough to drown out the ringing sensation in her ears. She could barely see Jefferson now, tears and smoke blurring her vision, but she willed him to leave. He would only get himself hurt and possibly her killed. He fortunately came to a similar conclusion. His footsteps faded from sound, and the great door slammed shut behind her only friend.

At once, the great force of magic released her and Belle exclaimed in relief. She lowered her forehead to the ground as she tried to remember how to breath properly. Her pink and white skirt pooled around her, cushioning her from the ground. Her shoulders throbbed from the phantom hands but she dared not moved less the magic return to finish what it had started.

She did not hear him approach so when her husband sank down beside her, she jerked away. He lay a hand on her shoulder so softly she almost did not feel it through the haze of pain. She should have scooted away, but his pointed gentleness stilled her.

“You mustn't talk to me like that,” he said softly. His hand moved down to her upper arm and she winced at the contract light as it was. Her arms would be bruised come morning, and the soreness had already settled in her bones.

“I only spoke the truth.”

His eyes flickered up at her, and for one brief moment, they appeared brown. He took his hand quickly away, and with it, the pain. “The truth,” he said faintly as he looked down at his own hands. “The truth is never fair.”

He stood and offered her his hand. Belle paused before accepting it. She searched his face for some hint of the monster lurking underneath but it had disappeared as quickly as it had come. He drew her to her feet as smoothly and as gently as he had removed the pain he had inflicted. Still, it did not excuse it and they both knew it.

“What you said...earlier…” he began. “Has Jefferson been telling tales again?”

Quick to protect her friend, Belle shook her head. “I learned a new story today.” Belle drew out Baelfire’s tattered book from her pocket. She pressed it into his hands which had gone nerveless. He fumbled with the book for a moment as they stood there in the great hall.

“Where did you find this?”

“In the library,” Belle told him. She left the fact that Jefferson had given it to her out of the story. After all, it was entirely possible she would have found it herself one day. “Is it true?”

His knuckles were white where he was holding onto the book for dear life and his eyes stared straight ahead though he did not see the room nor her. He was somewhere else, far far away. “It’s a child’s story...make believe.”

The first few words of the story still echoed in her memory. If the Spinner been capable of such lovely sentiment, what had happened to sour his marriage? “I meant is it true that you wrote this? That it’s your story?” she asked, unable to let this go. Something had shifted when they had knelt together there on the floor, but Belle could not place it.

“I have many stories,” he murmured. “More than you could tell in your lifetime.”

Belle drew one of his hands from the book to place over her own stomach. His touch was warm through the corset and brocade, not as feverish as Jefferson’s or as chilly as the Doctor’s. “I would know you and all your stories,” she told him. “Must I keep reminding you I am your wife?”

She did not have to explain further. He understood.

“I have much to do still,” he said softly. “Our unexpected guests ruined my plans for the day. I think I will retire to my own studies for the evening.”

He left her there in the grand dining hall but he took Baelfire’s book.

\--

Someone was in her bed.

Belle awoke from a sweet dream, one of riding her horse through the meadows of Avonlea. Her knees were clenched tight around the horse’s quarters, and her face flushed from the joy of exercise and the outdoors. Her breath came short and in shallow gasps, and she pressed her mount forward, as if seeking something just beyond the horizon.

As the dream faded away, the something became clear. Her husband’s hand was between her legs and it must have been for sometime. Her thighs were coated and sticky and she was pressed against him seeking something she could not quite name. Her face was planted in his own neck and his thigh between her own as she rocked against the heel of his palm.

The bliss of unconscious thought still clung to her but she was aware of her own hand moving to grab his wrist, pressing his fingers deeper inside her as she twisted her hips against the palm of his hand. His breath whispered over her ear, and his lips brushed against her skin for a moment. It was so fleetingly she could not even call is a kiss had she been in full control of her senses.

“Tell me a story, wife,” he murmured into her ear. “I would hear your voice weave a tale as memorable as your moans and whispered pleas.”

Was she pleading? Belle had not noticed. His thumb circled faster and harder at her lips as fingers curled to press against a soft spot deep inside her. She buckled and begged as his free hand came up to hold her hips in place. His chest was warm against her own, her nightgown soaked through with sweat.

With another twist, Belle cried out and tensed as she came closer and closer to ecstasy just as she was about to fall free, his hand pulled away. Before she could cry out, he slid inside her with such a thrust Belle cried out in startled pain.

He rolled them over so she was pinned beneath him but she did not feel trapped. Her own hands curled in the sheets beside her hips as the hand that had been pleasuring her slipped into her open mouth. Unconsciousness was fading away, and the anger she had gone to bed with, the memory of his treatment of her at dinner had come back to her mind. So, she bit down hard on his hand though it was petty and unladylike and violent and cruel. Her body bore no trace of his magic from earlier but her soul did. Whether had apologized or not, meant to hurt her or not, he had.

He grunted in pain but did not stop. His hips jerked harder and faster, finding deeper and deeper places inside her to spark tingling up and down her spine. He did not pull his hand away, and Belle inhaled sharply as his other hand moved back to circle her flesh, pinching and kneading until she could barely breathe.

He moaned as she sucked on his fingers and his hips buckled as he began to lose rhythm. Belle, desperate to find her own release, repeated the gesture and he cried out just as his knuckle scraped just right across her swollen sex.

They both cried out as one as their orgasms ripped through them and as their bodies spasmed against each other, for one brief moment, everything else fell away.

“A story,” he whispered some time later. He had not moved from her bed nor had she turned over to look at him. They lay just touching, and Belle was conscious of every move he made, every breath he took and even more conscious of her own body. “Tell me a story about a monster.”

Belle let her eyes close as her breathing evened out. “I will tell you one in the morning,” she yawned before she slipped back into the waiting arms of sleep.

\--

Belle wakened to a warm light playing upon her face. She cracked one eye open as her hand came to cover her face... only to see the sky. She sat up, nearly falling out of her bed in her haste to the window. The curtains were pushed to the side, the morning sky pink and orange with the sunrise. She covered her incredulous smile with her hand as she stared out the world below.

The Dark Castle sat in a great valley. On either side, mountains rose up and out of sight, too great for her to see but the gentle swelling of their bases. In the distance, more mountains cropped up, snowy tops gleaming white as the sun struck them. They went on as far as the eye could see, but the valley below was green and lush. She peered down through the closed glass to see a great river ran alongside the castle, a moat of sorts, she supposed though the river was wild and white capped with swells and currents.

A noise drew her attention back to her bed where her husband lay just where he had last night. He had been watching her reaction but when she turned, his eyes fell to her sheer nightgown illuminated against the bright sunlight of the outside world.

“It’s lovely,” Belle said as she returned to bed. He did not reach out for her but his shoulders relaxed just a fraction.

“You promised me a story.”

Belle lay her head back down so they mirrored each other. She nodded, her hair rustling against the pillow. “I did. Was this surprise my payment for the story?”

He shook his head, his own curls whispering across her bed. “It is...an apology for...for last night.”

Belle scrunched her nose up. “Our coupling? Rumple-” she yawned the rest of his name unable to help herself. He watched her and she pinked at his unwavering stare. “I appreciate the...concern but as my husband, you are welcome in my bed unless I state otherwise.”

“I’m well aware of that right,” he murmured as his eyes flickered down to her gaping chemise. “It was meant as a peace offering...for my behavior...at dinner.” Belle rolled on to her back to stare up at the canopy. She did not know what to say. It was not an apology he was offering and yet, it was. “I cannot promise it will never happen again,” he said beside her. “It is not something easily controlled.”

“Your temper?”

“My magic.”

She rolled back onto her side to regard him. His side of the bed was warmer than her own and she fought the urge to scoot closer to him as the morning chill grew cooler around her. He flipped the blanket up back into place over her but did not look away.

“Tell me a story about a monster,” he asked again, his voice low and guttural. “Tell me a tale.”

Belle sighed and tucked the cover under her chin. The room was quiet around them and though the curtains had been drawn, no noise came from the outside. They were utterly isolated, the whole world shrunk into this feather bed in this odd castle.

\--

_When the moon is high overhead, swollen and round with light, the people of the woods close their doors, shutter their windows and bar their fireplaces for it is Wolf’s Time. For three days when the Wolf Moon is high overhead, it is said the monster roams the wood looking to curb its insatiable appetite._

_Bloody paw prints would appear in the snow, chickens would go missing, cattle would be torn apart in their fields. If a hunting party grew brave enough to go after the wolf in the dark, they would be found come morning with their throats ripped out, their blood staining the ground to drip into the wells below. So, here in the woods, the people still wear red to repel wolves away, carry bows and arrows wherever they go and keep an axe by the door lest something come knocking on four paws._

_In this place, there lived a boy named Peter. He loved a girl named Rowan, named after the great trees that grew all around them and her red hair as bright as any berries. They met every night at her window where they whispered promises and exchanged kisses as young lovers are wont to do._

_Every night the boy begged Rowan to leave with him, and every night she refused though it broke her heart to do so for she lived with her Granny, a little old woman who had no one else in the world to care for her. Who would care for her if the wolf came to the door?_

_Peter tried everything to change Rowan’s mind but she could not vowed she could never leave her grandmother as long as the wolf walked the woods. So, Peter decided as a betrothal gift, he would bring Rowan the pelt of the great beast._

_Off into the deepest parts of the woods he went during the day, searching for prints and tracks. He found rabbits in their warrens, deer in their thickets and even bears in their caves but he could not find the great beast._

_When Wolf’s Time came again, a whole pen of sheep was slaughtered, their enclosured pasture red as Rowan berries. The town elders, furious at this loss, promised a bag of gold to whoever would bring them the wolf’s head._

_Peter waited until the Wolf Moon rose high overhead before he left his own home. He followed the tracks from the sheep’s pen up to the where the woods met the town. The tracks were as large as his own foot, stretching as far as a horse could leap and with claws as long as his own fingers. He tightened the bow on his back, and pressed forward into the night but when morning came, he had lost the trail._

_When he returned to town, he discovered he had not been the only one searching for the great beast. Fourteen widows stood in the market square, their husbands having not returned home by afternoon. The town elders turned to him, the only surviving hunter and promised him two bags of gold._

_He returned to Rowan’s window to find her waiting for him. She begged him to stop his foolishness, and her words stung. Wounded that she did not believe in him, furious that she did not see that this was all for her, he went back out into the woods._

_He wandered in circles for what felt like hours until he stumbled upon a great Rowan tree. Though his heart willed him to return to his love’s home, to apologize and to kiss her once again, he waited there as the moon rose higher and the night grew colder._

_In the dark hours before dawn, a low howl announced he was no longer alone. He drew his knife, cut his hand and in a circle around the great tree, he let his blood drip into the snow. He called the wolf to him with a howl of his own and climbed into the tree to await the beast._

_It came as silently as time creeps by. One second, Peter was alone and the next, great red eyes stared up at him from the roots of the tree. The wolf was as large as a pony, with thick hair so dense a knife would have not penetrated its fur. It snarled at him, teeth drooling with anticipation as it sniffed the air._

_Prepared, Peter shot an arrow at it, aiming for its great eyes. The arrow bounced harmlessly off the monster, as did all the rest of his arrows. The wolf snapped his great jaws, and jumped as if to swallow him whole but it could not reach the lowest branch to pull itself upwards._

_Finally, when Peter’s quiver was spent, the wolf put two great paws on the tree trunk and began to climb. It’s claws sank into the old bark, and its muscles quivered and shook as it pulled itself inch by inch as if it was some great cat and not a wolf at all._

_Peter, desperate, flailed around to see if he could make an arrow for a branch when his eyes landed on his quiver. There lay a silver decorative arrow that Rowan had gifted him once so many moons ago for luck. He pulled the small thing free from the leather and without thinking, fired it from his bow as if it was a real arrow._

_It struck the wolf dead through the heart and the red eyes went black as it fell backwards into the snow below. Peter dropped to the ground, his knife in his hand but there was no need. The wolf was dead. He stripped the beast of it’s belt and then took it’s great head as the sky began to lighten._

_He left the clearing just as dawn broke, but he did not spare another look at the carcass of the beast. His blood stained bag clung to his back as he went down to Rowan’s cottage. Her grandmother met him at the door as if she had been waiting for him._

_“I have slayed the great wolf,” Peter told her. “Tell Rowan to come out and give us your blessing.”_

_When he deposited the sack at her feet, she sank to her knees in the snow as if overwhelmed._  
_Tears coursed down her grandmother’s wizened cheeks. “I cannot give you my blessing,” she replied._

_Peter, tired and furious and his heart heavy from his fight with Rowan early, snapped. “I have done for Rowan, so that we can be together.”_

_The elderly woman lifted her eyes from the sack, dark and full of unwept tears. “You would be with her? Forever?”_

_“To be with Rowan, I would do whatever it takes.”_

_The old woman stood and gestured towards the blood stained snow where the wolf’s great head lay in his sack. “Then, look upon your work and when your eyes meet the eyes of the one you killed, you will be with Rowan forever.”_

_Peter’s heart began to beat oddly, but he felt not joy. Just an odd premonition as he sank to one knee, then the other. He reached out with trembling hands to peer into the crimson bag and to his horror, saw no wolf’s head but a familiar beautiful face staring up at him, Rowan’s face twisted in the agony of death and defeat._

_His hands were stained with blood, his eyes blind to everything but the unseeing eyes before him. So, lost in his own horror, Peter did not notice as the Grandmother’s great axe come down upon his neck._

\--

“I cannot forget the past,” Belle told her husband as the story died away between them. “Two hundred women died in the name of your deal.”

“I did not mean to cause their deaths.”

“Yet, you did,” Belle reminded him firmly. “For every woman dead, a family mourned them. For every bride you took, a gravestone was erected.”

The sun had risen and the smell of tea and fruit announced breakfast had been served but neither of them stirred from the bed. He was still and calm as she had ever seen him and in the sunlight his darkness seemed to have been driven away.

“I cannot change the past,” he said after a pause. “I am what I am.”

“You are who you want to be,” Belle said gently and reached out a tentative hand to touch where his lay beside him. The realization he was still naked under the sheets made her cheeks warm and her stomach tighten.

He noticed. His fingers curled around her own and he pulled her to him as if she weighed nothing more than a pillow. His lips descended on her own and lost in the sensation of him, still lulled into contentment from sleep, stories and sunlight, Belle did not push him away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As many of us know, the Dark One is an entity of it's own making, that bends its host to its will. This is the first chapter we see that, but Belle is still not wholly aware of it. She stills thinks her husband is in control of this magic, (which he sometimes thinks too but lets be honest) and this chapter was like walking a very fine line.
> 
> They're seeking each other out in small ways, learning each other in, adapting to each other and mirroring each other. (Her biting his fingers a call back to his biting her own a few chapters ago) and I'm trying to reflect them both in each other as this story continues and they both grow. 
> 
> Also, new character! Doctor Frankenstein is a very unsettling visitor...
> 
> And what did you all think of Ruby's story? I quite liked the twist when I saw it live the first season, not to mention the grisly death of Peter and Granny's bad assery- so I wanted to twist the tables around, redecorate them a bit, and still have a OH SHIT moment. Let me know what you though since I wrote this fairytale a bit differently. 
> 
> Love to all my readers of this dark tale. I cannot believe it is close to six hundred kudos. SIX HUNDRED KUDOS. WHAT.


	19. A Tale of Love, Continued

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 31

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you do not remember A Tale of Love, you may want to go back and reread Chapter 13's story. Not necessary, but it may help.

They had spent yesterday curled in the four poster bed exploring each other’s bodies and the invisible lines that still lay between them. Their coupling was far from the romantic songs of which the bards had sung, neither was a chore like the older women had always told her. No, when Belle's body joined with her husband's, everything else fell away.

They had laid together less than a handful of times. It was still new and strange, a duty to be fulfilled twisted into an addiction. Now in the light of day, alone with her thoughts and memories of her wicked depravity, Belle despaired of the pleasure she found in her marriage bed. Her husband was a monster, she reminded herself when she had woken alone. The Dark One had the blood of countless souls on his hands. The same hands that drove her mad, stroking and pinching until she could barely breath through the pleasure.  

Disgusted by this, she took refuge in her own chambers. It was her duty to lay with her husband. She took no real joy of it, she assured herself even though the bed lay rumpled less than a few feet away from her, the smell of sex still hanging in the air. Disgruntled, she pushed out of her seat, discarding her latest book with a huff. Something moved in tandem over by the window. Belle spun to face the intruder to discover it was only her own reflection. She had not seen her herself since she had arrived at the dark castle. Her lips were swollen, her hair still mussed and though she could not see it in the reflection, her hips were bruised with fingerprints and her thighs sore from her husband’s ministrations.

Her reflection, faint as it was, did not mirror this back to her. It simply stared in reproof, as if the woman in the glass was the true daughter of Avonlea, the lady and wife Belle had been meant to become. 

Her betrothed had been heralded as handsome knight, a fierce warrior from the western way who had won renown on the fields of the Ogre Wars until he been brought back to Avonlea with the promise of a future lordship for his services. Belle had not minded the arranged marriage. A handsome stranger, a fierce warrior and a brave man sounded like one of the characters straight out of her favorite stories. Gaston had turned out to be all of those things but also a vain narcissist, an ignorant oaf and a cruel fool. No one else seemed to notice his faults, so Belle had remained quiet and hoped that with time, he might outgrow these flaws or perhaps she might learn to love him. She had never counted on being forcibly wed to the Dark One, but perhaps those quiet nights when she had whispered prayers underneath her breath as Nan slept nearby had not gone unheard after all.

Her wedding would have taken place on the eve of Juul, a year from the day her engagement had been announced. Instead, she had been married to another a month early which meant...

Today was Juul.

She had lost count of the days again. Back home, they would be feasting and celebrating the end of the harvest, lighting candles in preparation of the long nights ahead and exchanging small gifts in memory of those they had lost that year. It occurred to her that her name would be one of those spoken in memory. Her stomach twisted at the thought of Nan, alone in the world, who had hoped to dress Belle for her wedding and instead was awaiting the day she would wrap Belle in her death shroud.

Taking a step forward, Belle gingerly touched her hand to the glass. The lady in the window did the same. Up close, the reflection's skin glowed pink with warmth and health, her eyes bright with unshed tears and her lips as swollen as rosebuds. Befitting a winter’s day, the window was as cold as ice though the castle interior was warm as a summer eve. Belle’s breath misted across the window and her reflection vanished as the outside world came into view. The skies were darker today as the sun played amongst the bundles of clouds. The river churned and gurgled below as the gales blew over the abandoned land. The wind outside rattled the pane and whistled shrilly in hello. How had she never heard it before now? She dropped her hand back down to her side as it struck her how fragile this glass might be. She had no wish to break the boundaries of the castle wall by accidentally shattering her window.

“It won’t break.”

His presence did not startle her, but the enchantment of the window faded away. “Are you well?” she asked, more to divert her own mind than out of any real curiosity. His unexpected presence in her room bothered her though she could not explain exactly why. He had been here just hours before and she had not minded at all.

Ignorant of her tone, Rumpelstiltskin slid his hands over her hips. “Well enough,” he murmured as his hands slid slower. Belle’s lower belly twisted in an instinctive greeting at his familiar touch. This was followed by a stab of pique though she could not say who she was annoyed with, herself or her husband, or why.

Unaware of her inner debate, Rumpelstiltskin put his head on her shoulder to stare out at the world below them. This too annoyed her. He had every opportunity to lower the curtains in his own rooms, and yet he came here to stare out into the world. Belle had been enjoying her time alone with her memories. She resented his casual assumption he was welcome in her rooms whenever he felt like it. True, it was the Dark One’s castle but her rationally had deserted her. It occurred to her that she was spoiling for a fight or as Nan had always said, “behaving as mad as a wet hen.” Her husband's breath ghosted over the exposed skin underneath her right ear. It made her shiver more than the chill from the window pane. Incensed by her own growing desire to lean into him, Belle plucked his hands free of her skirt. “I’m afraid I am not feeling well,” Belle said to her reflection.

At her words, Rumpelstiltskin let out a small hum of displeasure. “Well, we can’t have that, can we?” His arms wrapped back around her as his hands began to explore her body once more. In a rush of air, her clothes vanished off her completely and his hands went to her exposed breasts as he nudged his leathered thigh between her legs.

The magic tickled and she wiggled even as the chill from the window made her shiver violently. Her movements startled her husband whose claws sank into her skin as if to hold her firmly in place. His name died on her lips as a thin trickle of blood trailed down her bare stomach to mix with the damp curls between her thighs. A heady mix of outraged fear curdled in her stomach but she forced herself to stay utterly still.

  
Her husband giggled in that hideous mockery of a child’s laughter as he traced his bloody claws down the slope of her ribs. “Now, look what you have done, wife,” he murmured into her ear. “You’ve hurt yourself…”

The temptation to close her eyes against it all was strong. Her skin ached where he had pierced her flesh and there was something else burning in her chest, something far removed from this castle and the creature she called husband.

Mistaking her silence as acceptance, he twisted her around roughly to press her against him. Belle moved to strike him, to claw at him but a white face floated to her mind’s eye. The bride she had seen...the only one she had ever looked upon gazed back up at her from years ago, a silent warning. Belle went limp. Sensation and thought collided in her mind’s eye as her husband bent his head to her mouth, biting and suckling at her lips. She lay motionless in his arms, as still as corpse. Her heartbeat thumped in her ears as she tried to drift outside of herself. Her husband had moved his attention to her breasts. His lips glided against the shallow cuts, the scratches below already raised into welts on her pale skin.

Her mind strayed further from this place, from this life to the one she had led once upon a time. Where she had been a lady at a castle, and Juul had been the one celebration where Avonlea could pretend there was not a war...where women did not disappear forever and men did not die in battle. The longest night of the year was met with candlelight and laughter, storytelling and feasts, as if trying to show the darkness it held no terror...

Last year’s celebration had found her betrothed...how funny...she couldn’t even recall what she had been wearing or what Gaston had said...all Belle remembered was Nan pressing a cup of sparkling wine into her hand and a kiss to her cheek as Nan had murmured how proud she was...

Her husband’s voice came through these memories if from a great distance. She ignored him. Perhaps it would be quick...Nan always said men did not need but a few moments-

“Belle.”

At the sound of her name, her eyes opened against her own will. Her husband came into blurry view though he was only inches away. Belle blinked up at him, trying to bring herself back to the moment, back to her husband but he swam in and out of focus. It was only when she lifted her shaking hands to her face that she discovered she was crying.

“Oh,” she said as she sank onto the window seat. Her husband followed her down, kneeling before her as he peered up at her in bewilderment. Her back pressed against the glass, the cold chill cooling her as her heartbeat slowly returned to normal.

Rumpelstiltskin's eyes were wide but showed no emotion. He continued to stare at her as if to uncover the answer to some great riddle. Belle forced her own breathing to match his, despite his mood seconds ago, her husband now seemed completely calm.

He did not reach out to touch her but stayed perfectly immobile at her feet. He nodded towards where the shallow scratches on her upper chest had begun to swell and the puncture marks below had clotted over. He lifted his own claws to the light of the window though the dry blood was hardly noticeable against the ebony of his talons. “I hurt you,” he stated after a long pause. His tone was not apologetic or concerned but a matter of fact, a statement of something that could not be changed.

Belle nodded as her eyes slipped close again. Her lower lip trembled as she tried to hold back the tears. Her husband did not deal well with raw emotions, if she should lose control here...now...he would retaliate and her room would be tainted...her sanctuary lost forever.

“Tell me a story.”

Certain she had heard him wrong, Belle opened her eyes despite the storm of memories raging in her mind’s eye. “A story?” she repeated hoarsely. “Now?”

He nodded and to her surprise sat down on the floor beneath her. He closed his eyes, pressed his cheek against his knees and waited. His lashes were long against his cheeks, his hair frizzy from where it had rubbed against her own and his leather pants clearly outlined his desire but he looked wholly at peace, almost like a child patiently waiting for their bedtime story.

Outside, the sun began to collapse back toward the mountaintops. Somewhere to the south, Avonlea was gathering in its great halls. Had her father told them what he had done? Did Nan know she was still alive? Did the children still beg for stories or had they grown silent as winter had come?

“I don’t...I can’t think of one,” Belle said as other memories crowded her mind.

Her first Juul after her mother had died, everyone had still been dressed in black...then there had been the one where the pig had gotten loose in the kitchens and everyone had decided to spare it and ate bread and cake instead…

There were countless stories to be told, but they were twisting away from her like snakes. For every one she gasped, a memory bit her with the venom of nostalgia and heartbreak and she dropped them both.

“You never finished the one about the lovers,” her husband said in what came close to being a respectful tone. “The prince and the peasant girl.”

Oh, the one about true love and loss...it had been one of her favorite when she had been younger. Her husband however had interrupted all the way though the first part of that story, eyes rolling and dramatic sighs of disgust. “You didn’t like that one,” Belle reminded him.

He shrugged. “Tell it anyway.”

Sensation returned to her body slowly, as her mind began to clear. She shifted away from the cold of the window to find a blanket draped by her side. She took it gratefully and draped it over her naked form. Her husband did not say anything, but flipped one edge over to cover her bare legs unbidden.

“Come, wife,” he said with a crooked grin when he saw her staring. “It’s Juul. I would have a story as my gift.”

Belle’s brow furrowed as she hugged the blanket to her closer. She had not known the Dark One would honor such a holiday. “You celebrate Juul?”

He shrugged. “I did once upon a time.”

Belle pulled the blanket closer around her. “Did you know I was to be wed this evening?” His eyes narrowed slightly, but he held tight onto the reins of his emotions. No magic swirled, no dark presence lingered in the air between them so Belle tried to do the same. “I had almost forgotten it myself,” she confessed with a feeble smile, “as I am already wed.”

This pleased and baffled him. His eyes widened as his mouth parted into a crocodile smile as both their eyes fell to the ring on her hand. “And bedded,” he reminded her smugly. His tone brought back memories of the day before...certain murmured pleas and exclaims of pleasure that had been far above the call of duty. “I would know what happens next,” he said simply and Belle was not certain if he meant the story of if he meant between them.

“A story it is.” Belle took a deep breath and tried to remember where they had left off in the story.

\--

_The sorcerer drew from his pocket a vial, foggy mist stoppered in its depths._

_The next time you see your love, he told her, drink this and you will forget._

_The lovesick girl took the offered potion she had traded for a smile though she thought it_ _worthless. She would never see her lover again for he had gone to the castle to be wed. Still, when she went to thank him, the sorcerer was gone._

_Tempted by the blissful ignorance of this new hope, the girl did not heed the sorcerer's directions. Before she went to bed, afraid to see her lover once more, she drank the entire vial in one swallow and collapsed backwards into a deep and dreamless slumber._ _When she awoke, her hair was as black as coal, her skin as white as snow, and her lips as red as blood. She was beautiful and terrible and where she had once had a heart full of love, there was now nothing but despair._

_One night, as she stared out into the darkness which was reflected in her own empty eyes. A man arrived into her hideaway. He was beautiful and fair and she hated him upon sight._

_Be gone, she demanded. Leave this place._

_I cannot forsake you, the stranger said, no more than I can forsake my heart._

_The girl laughed at this. Who are you, she asked._

_The man who loves you, he replied, the man you love._

_The heartless girl laughed again. Prove it, she said._

_So, the stranger stayed. He milked the cow before sunrise, labored in the field during the day, and at night he would feed the animals before collapsing by the fireplace. In the morning, he woke up and did it all again._

_At first, the girl merely laughed at his misfortune._

_Boy, why do you stay though I hate you so?_

_I love you, he would reply as he washed the windows so they gleamed in the sunlight._

_Soon, the girl grew infuriated with him._

_Boy, she raged as she threw fresh eggs on the ground at his feet, why do you stay though I hate you so?_

_I love you, he replied as he handed her a new basket of eggs._

_Then, the girl tried to ignore him._

_Boy, she grumbled as she leaned against the doorway, why do you stay though I hate you so?_

_I love you, he answered as he hung up the washing to dry on the line._

_After that, the girl began to pester him._

_Boy, she demanded, why do you stay though I hate you so?_

_I love you, he responded as he stroked the fire._

_Finally, the girl accepted his company._

_Boy, she sighed, why do you stay?_

_I love you, he smiled._

_For months it went like this until one morning the girl awoke to find the house still quiet. The sun was up but the cow mooed pitifully from the barn, her udders swollen and untouched. The boy was not in his usual spot by the fire._ _Worried, the girl forgot herself completely and ran out into the morning and straight into the boy. So, overjoyed at finding him still there, she threw her arms around him and kissed him._

_Within moments, her heart burst back into being, her memories flooded her and the girl found herself in the prince’s arms. He was different now. His fair skin tanned by the day’s work, his soft hands callused from daily toil and his royal clothes filthy and ragged on his broad shoulders._

_I love you, he replied. I will never leave you again._

_I love you, she told him. I will never forget you again._

_True to their words, they lived happily ever after._

\--

Her husband stared up at her with a deeply skeptical look on his pointed face. “That’s it?”

The story had calmed her, centered her but now she scowled back down at him. “What do you mean that’s it?”

“She was clearly better off without a heart,” he grumbled under his breath. “Words, words, words, that’s all love is.”

Belle kicked at his elbow with her bare toe. “It was not words! He showed her day by day through his actions that he loved her, he proved himself worthy of her love through time and effort.”

“That little Forgetful Potion seems more like a solution than a problem in that scenario,” he sniffed. “What was it hurting anyone for her to not love him anymore? He’s the one who got up and left.”

“It took away her heart, left a hole in her soul!” Belle said as the rush of debate came over her. “She lost herself completely. You can’t live like that. Living without a heart...it’s - it’s-”

“Evil?” he said quietly. He was not talking about the story anymore. “Evil isn’t born, it’s made. Is that the take away?”

Belle slid down to sit beside him. As she took his hands in hers, the blanket fell away from her. He did not look at her so Belle nudged his chin gently with their joined hands until his eyes met her steady gaze. “It is a story about misunderstandings, true love and loss,” Belle said evenly. “It is about the power of the truest kind of love, and the ability to change.”

“Do you believe in such a redemption ?” His trademark sneer was absent from his face as a storm cloud passed outside and they fell into shadow. The dappled colors of his tunic, orange and purple brocade, deepened and darkened even as his skin grew muted and mottled, a contrast in beauty and plainness.

“Love is the most powerful thing of all,” Belle told him firmly. “If you possess love, you can do anything.”

“So, they say,” he whispered back but his eyes were far away. He was not speaking to her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Are you thinking- Gee, B, did you just totally rip off Princess Bride-?
> 
> Yes, yes I did. However, this is retelling of fairy tales, so I don't feel too bad about it. That and the Heart of Darkness story was just meh. I sat on this chapter for a long time because I loved some of the take aways from the flashback but I just didn't love the story surrounding it. (Jiminy chewing through the ropes to free David? Snow unable to kill a bird but being bad ass enough to go Kathy Bates on a guard?) However, there is one or two pieces I loved about it, including the bit about true love which is starting to play a larger part in our story. 
> 
> Other notes:  
> -Juul is Avonlea's version of Yule. Similar but not quite the same.  
> -Gaston is as much of a prick in this story as he is in BatB.  
> -Belle is wrestling with guilt. She is doing what she has to do, but finding she enjoys it. Her moral compass is very opposed to this and it's conflicting her judgement. This is the first time in our story she closes her eyes against her reality, and I hope you caught Rumpel is the one to call her on it. He stops, he pulls away, puts the power back in her hands by requesting a story. It's a huge moment of development for him even as it reflects Belle's struggles.  
> -Anyone remember that little moment in Chapter 13 when Rumple plucked some hairs off Belle's head? No reason I'm bringing it up on this chapter or anything ;)
> 
> As always, let me know your thoughts! This chapter was a bit of a doozy but next up is Hat Trick (aka when OuaT introduces Jefferson) which means our favorite madman is probably going to show up.


	20. Juul

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Thirty-First Night

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Huge thank you to Still-Searching47 and QuinnoftheNorth who shared with me the OuaT comic on Jefferson.

The wardrobe refused to listen to her.

“It’s just dinner,” Belle repeated for the umpteenth time. “There’s no need to get dressed up.”

The rose colored gown swayed slightly as the wardrobe bristled but no matter how many times Belle looked away, closed her eyes or stomped her foot, the wardrobe would not be swayed.

Belle scowled back at the inanimate magical object as her stomach grumbled loudly. She had missed lunch thanks to her husband’s unexpected visit. Usually, she would just go down to dinner in her day dress but it had ‘mysteriously’ disappeared during her bath. Her hair was curling about her shoulders, still slightly damp at the edges and her cheeks were flushed in frustration as she continued to argue her case with an armoire.

Her stomach made a pitiful noise once more and Belle sighed in defeat. “Fine,” she murmured with a wave of her hand. The castle’s magic hurried to dress her less Belle change her mind.  
When Belle opened her eyes, the wardrobe had a decidedly smug air about it. “Only because it’s Juul,” Belle said as she poked at it meaningfully with her finger. “The rest of the week will be day gowns and slippers for supper.”

A pair of heels waited patiently at her feet. It had taken the magic a good few days to understand how ticklish Belle was, but now mercifully let her put on her own shoes. Belle frowned at the intricate rose pattern detailing the leathered cork but she slipped them on her feet with only a murmured grumble.

“Heels and a train?” she shot back to the wardrobe who was now as still as a proper piece of furniture ought to be. The silk curved around her shoulders displaying her shoulders while mercifully covering her husband’s handiwork over her breasts, the cuts from his talons still red and swollen.

The dress did not have a wide skirt but trailed after her legs in a decidedly grand way. Belle tried to pull the fabric up but gave it up as a lost cause as the fabric began to wrinkle. She would be sitting down, she told herself as she left the room, her heels clicking gracefully as the skirts swished against the immaculate floor.

She stopped in the doorway as she caught sight of herself in the dark window across the way. The moon was hidden behind clouds and no light entered her rooms allowing her a clear view of her attire. With her flushed face and her mussed hair, she looked like a milkmaid fresh out a tumble in the hay but her gown and heels added an air of sophistication.

The wardrobe hinges creaked at her knowingly and Belle nodded at it in apology. “It’s lovely,” she admitted with a wan smile. “However, I still think it’s much too fine for dinner.”

\--

As it turned out, the castle, as usual, knew best.

Once again, the great hall was resplendent. It shone gold with candlelight, tall white pillars of wax stood along the walls, the drippings creating artful patterns across the floor as if a master painter had taken his hand to them. The chandeliers hung low and every surface boasted candelabras flickering with a bright glow that warmed and softened the air of the great space into something intimate and enchanting.

The usual table had been replaced by a large round one that was heavy with food. There were piles of rolls with honey smeared across them, out of season fruits freshly picked, a handsome sirloin beef centerpiece that steamed fresh from the oven and to Belle’s surprise, her own personal Juul favorite, a creamy broth concoction of basil and orange spices.

None of this was as surprising as the man waiting for her beside the table.

“Jefferson!” Belle cried as she flung her arms back around him. “You’re here!”

“Course I’m here,” he said, his voice slightly muffled as he embraced her in return. “Where else would I be?”

“Happy Juul,” Belle answered in response as she pulled away from him. “You look very dashing,” she said as she touched the paisley scarf wrapped elegantly about his neck. It disappeared into a brocade patterned vest but the real eye catcher was the burnt orange long coat he wore over the ensemble. His hat was noticeably absent however, his curls sticking up like a halo around his head.

“A merry Juul to you,” he replied before he nodded towards the table. It was only as he pulled her seat out that Belle noticed there were only two chairs. Jefferson caught her glance toward the door and shook his head. “He’s away,” he said.

“Oh,” Belle said lamely. She stared down at her folded hands in her lap as annoyance and disappointment clashed in her head. Hadn’t she wanted to be left alone earlier? She had been annoyed at her husband for his intrusion, his assumption that she would want him then and there...and now he was gone away. Belle smoothed the rich fabric of the gown over her thighs and tried not to think of it as too much of a waste.

Jefferson, quick as ever for a mad man, clucked at her. “He’s a busy man,” he reminded her as he popped a skinned grape into his mouth. He gave her a wounded look. “Have you grown tired of me already?”

“Of course not!” Belle hurried to assure him. “Today’s been...hard,” Belle said. She quickly speared a piece of cheese on her fork.

“You miss your family?” Jefferson wagered.

Belle nodded stiffly. Memories of Avonlea had been following her all day, and though she had tried to keep the idea of her father at bay, his booming laugh and warm smile burst upon her mind’s eye as if he stood before her. She slowly sat down beside Jefferson, their hands clutched between them as if anchoring each other to the world.

“I miss them all very much,” Belle admitted softly. “Nan and the children, the maids and the chefs, the old men in the yard…” Her mind whispered her father’s name but she could not bring herself to say it aloud. Her last sight of Avonlea had been her father’s back, turned away from her as his deal was wrought. She cast about for a change of subject and seized the first one that came to her mind. “Was Doctor Frankenstein not able to come either?”

Jefferson’s red rimmed eyes narrowed knowingly at her question but he humored her. “They do not celebrate Juul in Frankenstein’s land,” he told her as if it was common knowledge, “and before you ask, no your husband is not visiting with him at the moment.”

Helping herself to a roll sticky with honey, Belle waved this away. “I wasn’t going to ask,” she fibbed. “Where does the Doctor hail from again?”

Her dinner companion pulled at his scarf and the odd scar that went all around his neck came briefly into view before disappearing again. “Would you care for some bouillabaisse?”

“Jefferson.” Belle lowered her roll to her plate. Her hunger distracted by Jefferson’s obvious discomfort and her curiosity piqued, Belle pressed him further. “I know most of the families in the Southlands and Frankenstein is not a name I have ever heard. Is he from the West Way?” Jefferson helped himself to a dripping slice of beef sirloin. “The Eastern Empire?”

He shook his head as if a fly was buzzing around him. “Care for a slice?” he asked her as he help up the large tray of sirloin. It smelled heavenly, but Belle took it from him and deposited it on the other side of the table.

“Surely not the Northern Kingdom?” she gathered. She had not seen any sign of another living soul out of her window and she had spent most of the afternoon gazing out of it when her husband had taken his leave. It struck her as odd she had not seen her husband leave. “Did my husband go to visit him?”

Jefferson deflated. “Your husband had business elsewhere,” he said as he nudged the quickly congealing jellied dates around his plate. “You should eat before it gets cold.”

Belle helped herself to a slice of the aromatic main entree and ate four bites without taking a breath before she pointed her fork at Jefferson with a direct look. “Why are you here, Jefferson?”

He had the gall to look affronted but did not stop piling his dish full of food. “To celebrate Juul with you in your husband’s absence.”

It must have been sudden for Rumplestiltskin to disappear without saying so much as a mention of his leaving. Belle ignored the multitude of emotions at this development to focus on the matter at hand. “Yes, but my husband isn’t too fond of you at the moment,” Belle pointed out. “Hardly enough has changed in forty eight hours for him to invite you back.”

Jefferson, however, had clammed up. He shoveled food into his mouth at such a rate, if Belle blinked she would have missed it. “Must try this delicacy,” he said as he nearly spilled the cheese platter all over her. “Oh, and here are the salads!”

Belle nearly put her elbow in one as they appeared but helped herself to a cranberry walnut one that smelled like summer. It was a fine Juul feast despite the oddity of it all, so Belle nibbled on this and that as she waited for an opening. Soon, she too was caught up in the festive spirit as they discussed old friends, childhood traditions and their personal favorite Juul memories. Jefferson nearly choked when Belle told him about the escaped pig and she could not breathe for laughter when he availed her of the time he had almost been mistaken as a vengeful ghost at a Juul in a small town.

They chattered on about this and that until finally the dinner plates faded away to desserts. There pastries with meringue, puddings and toffees but there was no tea. Belle looked about for it as Jefferson pounced on the pudding but only the traditional Juul punch was offered. With a sigh at the castle’s whims, Belle murmured an excuse to Jefferson who barely heard her as he heaped meringue on his plate. She made excellent time to the kitchen but was surprised to find no tea kettle whistling at her greeting.

“Tea, please,” she requested but to her surprise, none appeared. She chuckled before she closed her eyes and repeated her request. When she opened her eyes, there was still no tea but a urn. Belle sniffed at it and her eyes watered at the terrible smell of Jefferson’s coffee overwhelmed her. “Oh, come on now,” Belle huffed. “A spot of tea, for me, please.”

There was a whistling noise and Belle turned to find a small kettle on the stove. It steamed sullenly as she grabbed two tea cups, some spoons and sugars before unearthing the teapot in the back of the tallest pantry. “What is wrong with you today?” Belle huffed as the tea caddy’s wheels locked in place preventing her from returning to the dining room. “Enough!”

With a squeak, the tea caddy moved briskly forward and Belle had to hurry forward in it’s wake. It stopped stubbornly outside the great hall but Belle managed to tug it in behind her. Jefferson greeted her return by waving a cup of punch in her general direction as he licked crumbs off his fingers.

“Sorry, that took so long,” Belle said as she tugged the cart further into the room. “I had the hardest time. Would you care for some tea?”

He froze. The spoonful of pudding he had been about to eat plopped back down to his plate with a splat. “Tea?”

Belle nodded as she looked back over her shoulder for the usual tea cart. “Yes, it’s a bit too late but I thought a nice cup of tea-”

A great crash rose from the other side of the table as Jefferson pushed up and out of his chair. The table wobbled and only managed to steady itself though a tower of cookies fell to the floor. They hit the floor with a splat but Belle was too busy hurrying towards Jefferson.

He was curled up in the far corner of the room, his arms wrapped around his legs as he rocked nervously to and fro. “Jefferson,” Belle said softly though she was careful not to touch him. “Jefferson, look at me.”

He did slowly but his eyes looked straight through her. “I’m not mad,” he babbled. “I’m not mad. I’m not.”

“Shush,” Belle soothed. “Of course, you’re not.”

He did not seem to hear her. He continued to mumble to himself, the odd word distinguishable. Something had startled him...no, not startled, terrified him. He trembled, his eyes darting around the room. When it landed back on the table, he gave another moan and pulled his hair as if to tear it free from his head.

“Jefferson,” Belle pleaded as his fear began to infect her. “Jefferson, tell me what’s wrong so I can help. Jefferson, please.”

He looked up at her and for a moment, his eyes cleared and a small, sweet smile came over his face. “Priscilla?” he said softly as he reached up for her. “Oh, Priscilla, my love...you came.”

Startled at this change, Belle took a step backwards and Jefferson’s face fell. Cursing herself for a fool, Belle knelt down beside him. “Jefferson, it’s me,” Belle repeated urgently. “It’s Belle.”

His lip wobbled and he turned away with a groan. “Lost, lost,” he murmured to himself as his fingers clawed at his head. “Gone, gone away.”

Jefferson’s eyes were closed tight and he began to rock violently, hitting his head against the wall. A nearby painting fell to the floor, nearly missing some candles. He continued to gibber and moan and in a rush of worry, Belle stood. “Rumplestiltskin!” she called to the empty air. “Rumplestiltskin!” Her husband did not materialize.

At a loss, Belle hurried back to the table to fetch some water when her eyes fell on the tea caddy. It couldn’t be. Jefferson had sat beside her while she had enjoyed some tea in the kitchen just a day ago. Still, there was denying it had been her reappearance with tea that had preceded Jefferson’s attack. So, Belle pushed at it and as if it was given permission to go, it disappeared out of the room, the great door closing with a bang behind it.

“There,” she told Jefferson as she dropped back down to his side. “It’s gone. No more tea.”

He cracked an eye open at her. “No more?”

She nodded vigorously and Jefferson relaxed with a relieved sigh. Belle helped him off the floor. She steered him towards the hearth and gently lowered him into the loveseat before taking the nearby wingback chair. The fire crackled before them as if talking to itself.

“I’m terribly sorry,” Jefferson said after a moment or two. He tugged his scarf free from his vest and the long ago healed circular scar that ringed his neck shone in the firelight. He mopped his face with the scarf before crumbling it up in his hands. “I don’t know what came over me.”

Belle resisted pointing out exactly what came over him. “Was it...was it what I brought from the kitchen?”

He didn’t answer. He simply rubbed at his neck as if it pained him. The castle had known, Belle realized with a guilty stab. It had done everything to prevent her from enjoying a cup of tea and she had ignored it. “I’m so sorry,” she murmured guiltily. It struck her belatedly that in all her time with Jefferson, he had never joined her for tea besides the other day in the kitchen when he had attempted to share his coffee.

On the couch, Jefferson twisted his scarf between his fingers. His knuckles were going white but his eyes were far away again. Feeling wretched, Belle swallowed. “I didn’t know,” she said softly, hoping he would understand.

He smiled kindly though something sad lingered in his smile. “How could you have? It’s not a story you would have heard.” Forgiven, Belle’s shoulders relaxed though the guilt still lingered in her belly. “Priscilla was my wife. When you stood over me with the candlelight behind you...your hair glowed as red as the setting sun.”

Jefferson had told her when they first met that he had a daughter and a wife once upon a time but he had never brought them up again. Belle knew all too well how loss colored a person’s world, twisted them and never left their side.

“I’m always at a bit of a loss without my hat,” he admitted. He touched the top of his head as if checking for it. “I don’t like to be without it not after...after Wonderland.” He said it casually, but it was clear he would not have liked to say it all. “Do you know any stories about Wonderland?”

Baffled, Belle leaned closer. “I’ve never heard of it before,” she confessed. “Is it very far away?”

Jefferson shook his head and tapped his head. “It’s only as close as right here,” he said with a sigh. “It’s right beside us.”

Belle looked over her shoulder. The great hall stood as grand as ever. Jefferson snorted. “No, no, Brainless,” he said. The use of her nickname suggested he was feeling better. “It touches this world but it’s not in this world.”

“World?” Belle said as her mind suggested all sort of possibilities. “You mean, there’s more than just this one?”

“Plenty,” he sighed. “Neverland, Oz, and Wonderland to name a few.”

“Oz,” Belle marveled at the odd word. “What are they like?”

Jefferson shrugged. “Each is different,” he said shortly. “Doctor Frankenstein is from the Land Without Color. I don’t go there much,” he said with a shudder. “Dark, grey, gloomy place.”

That did seem to fit with Doctor Frankenstein and it made a certain amount of sense. The Doctor had not seemed as if he had belonged here and apparently it was because he did not. “Where do we live?” Belle asked breathlessly.

“The Land of Fairy Tales,” he said with a shrug. “No idea what that means.”

“The Land of Tales,” Belle repeated. “How fitting. How can you get to the other worlds? Can you travel there?”

Jefferson looked as if he would rather not answer the question but he did. “You can only hop between worlds with a magical objects...like my hat,” he explained. Belle nodded. Jefferson had cleverly used his hat to free her from her dungeon effectively saving her life. If she had not moved from the dungeons...

“Now, now,” he said as he caught side of her stricken expression. “Your husband had to make a quick trip to Wonderland and as I refuse to go there, he had to go instead. He invited me to dine with you tonight in exchange for a few hours away with my hat.”

“How convenient,” Belle said with a smile though she really wanted to ask all about Wonderland was. It sounded fascinating and well...wonderful.

“It’s a terrible place,” Jefferson said as if he heard her thoughts. His mouth tightened into a fine line and his eyes burned like two coals. Belle leaned away from him slightly as anger rolled off him in waves. “I could tell you plenty of stories of it,” he said with a snide laugh. “One worst than the next. They’re all mad there.”

Belle bit down on the multitude of questions to pat Jefferson’s hand. “I’m sorry I brought it up,” she said softly.

“It’s not a nice story,” he said as if he had not heard her. “The story of how I lost my mind…”

“I don’t need to hear it,” Belle told him but it was like speaking to a wall.

Jefferson did not seem to hear her. He stood as if listening to something very far away.

“Wonderland is like trying to wake from a dream. You know everything is wrong but no matter what you do, it refuses to cooperate. Grass as tall as trees, mushrooms as large as boulders and everything so topsy turvy that even if you stand on your head, you have no idea which way is up.”

“Why go there at all then?”

Jefferson held up a single finger as a slow smile spread across his face. “There used to be magic there,” he whispered. “It permeated everything, a world of limitless magic or so they thought.”

No wonder her husband had gone there, whoever had magic in a land without it would be king.

“I...I went there in search of my fortune,” Jefferson said as he slowly pulled his pocketwatch from his vest pocket. It shone golden in the firelight as it ticked madly in Jefferson’s palm. “In the end, the joke was on me.”

He tapped the watch and it sprang open to reveal a frozen clock face. The long hand was on the two while the short hand stayed on the four. Both hands trembled violently as if they were trying to wretch themselves free from their position. Situated in the fob’s cover, a beautiful woman stared up at Jefferson, a small bundle nestled in her arms as she looked up adoringly into the eyes of her husband.

“Priscilla said not to go,” he said wretchedly. “She told me the three of us were enough...but I didn’t listen.” He tugged at rich overcoat. “Did I ever tell you I was a thief?”

Belle, not daring to break the spell, shook her head.

He smiled, a ghost of pride flittered across his face before grief replaced it. “That’s how I met Priscilla,” he said as he traced the miniature's face with his finger. “She tried to steal it too.”

“Sorry,” Belle interrupted before she could help herself. “Steal what?”

“The Clock of Evermore,” Jefferson said with a shudder. “It’s a timepiece constructed in Wonderland before...before they lost their magic. It came to this land...for a time. We ran around the entire world looking for it...but instead we found ourselves parents.”

He tilted the clock up to Belle so she could better see the bundle in Priscilla’s arms. It was a baby, her lips as pink as her father’s and her hair as dark and curly. She had her mother’s eyes though, green and tilted as if laughing at a private joke.

“Grace was a treasure of which I had never dared dream,” Jefferson told her. “We bought a grand house in the country, bought her everything money could buy...and settled down to a respectful life….until the money ran out.”

A grand home with no servants, rich clothes fraying, two adventurous spirits stuck at home...and though love lived there as sure as it had ever existed, times grew hard.

“I learned the Clock had found it’s way to Wonderland...at the home of a…” Jefferson swallowed. “The March Hare,” he said with another violent shudder. “A madman...famed for his grand estates, extravagant parties and hunts...he wore a crown of rabbit ears from all his kills. An eccentric.”

He gave a humorless laugh. “So, I promised Priscilla I wouldn’t go, kissed Grace goodnight and snuck out while they were sleeping.” He patted about for his absent hat and Belle took his hand in her own. He squeezed it gratefully though his eyes strayed back to the fire. “Needless to say, I did not have luck on my side.” Belle’s eyes went to Jefferson’s scar but he shook his head. “Another story for another time,” he sighed. “The March Hare caught me easily enough. I had not spent much time in Wonderland before that trip and I underestimated their...ways.”

Jefferson went on to explain his time at the March Hare’s estate. He had been strapped to a chair and forced to join his host for tea...repeatedly. Once a tea cart had been finished, his captor would rewind the Clock of Evermore and repeat the entire event.

“It was less than four days in our time,” Jefferson said as his voice broke. “There though...we had tea a thousand times before I lost count...and after that, who knew how many times.”

Belle inhaled sharply as she resisted the urge to throw her arms back around her friend. He had developed a slight twitch in his right shoulder and his left knee was bouncing rapidly as if he might spring up and away at any moment.

“He grew bored finally,” Jefferson said after a moment’s pause. “Decided to go away on a hunt for a new crown...his had started to decay...dead skin falling into tea cups and the fur rotting away as the flesh decomposed.”

Belle's stomach twisted as it threatened to upend her dinner all over the carpet. “How did you escape?” she managed. 

A relieved smile broke over his face. “Priscilla.”

His wife had come for him, having woken in the middle of the night to find him gone.

“It took her some time to find another portal jumper,” Jefferson explained as if to defend his wife’s tardiness. Belle had to bite her lip not to pepper him with questions. She filed it away to later ask her husband all about these portal jumpers, never having thought there were others beside Jefferson. “I...I insisted I needed to fetch my hat...but I should have listened to her. I should have gone with her!”

His voice echoed loudly in the hall as he jumped to his feet and began to pace in front of the fire. His face twisted grotesquely as the shadows blurred his features into a mask of dark rage. “He killed her,” he growled though he was not talking to her any longer. “An arrow to the back. He wanted to scalp her fine long hair for his new crown.”

Belle made a small noise of horror and Jefferson’s eyes swung back to her. He grinned but there was no humanity left in his face at all. “She stayed alive just long enough to make me promise...promise to take care of Grace.” He began to laugh and Belle recoiled as if struck. He giggled madly, cruelly, wildly just like her husband. It occurred to her that this was the laugh of a broken man, stretched out over time so thin that nothing could anchor them to reality. “I broke that promise as well, thanks to Wonderland.”

A silence stretched between them, only marred by a slight whistling from the wind outside. Belle wanted to say she understood, or how sorry she was for his loss, or a million other things but she could not find the words. Jefferson sighed deeply and his entire body relaxed. It was as if a giant vise had been loosened and he collapsed down beside her on the couch. He leaned his head back and put a hand to his face to pinch the bridge of his nose. “Ole Dragonhide has asked me many a time to go back to that place...and each time I tell him the same. I will die first.”

The whistling grew louder and more shrill as the wind picked up outside. Belle had a morbid curiosity to press Jefferson on what had happened to his daughter...on how he had gotten that scar round his neck but she choked on the words. Jefferson’s rage and grief still hung in the air around them and the story burned her ears even as a cold chill touched her heart. “What does my husband want with such a place?”

He looked over at her, that same sad look of disappointment. “Come, come, Brainless,” he sighed. “What do you think a man like Ole Dragonhide would want?”

The same as Jefferson had, her mind whispered to her, the ability to go back in time before they had lost everything.

The wind outside grew louder and the plates on the table began to shake and quiver. Startled, Belle whipped her head around to see if a window had blown open only to realize the wind was coming from the open door to the hallway.

“What in the world-!” Belle began just as Jefferson jumped to his feet. He tugged her after him out into the hall. The tea caddy had disappeared from sight as Jefferson hurried them down to the entrance hall. There was a great roaring noise as if the wind had sprung into being in the castle but as they turned the corner, Rumpelstiltskin stood before them, twirling Jefferson’s hat in one hand and clutching something in his other. He did not look surprised to see them though his eyes took in Jefferson's dishabille and Belle's pinched look of worry. 

He chose to ignore it. “Your hat,” her husband said as he flipped it over to its rightful owner. Jefferson caught it and crammed it into his curls with a sigh of relief. “As per our deal,” he said and flipped something into Jefferson’s hands. It was a small vial with the words DRINK ME written so small on it that Belle had to scrunch her eyes up to read it.

The madman caught it neatly and bowed before he turned to Belle with a wan smile. “I’m sorry I did not have a happier story for Juul,” he said solemnly before taking her hand and pressing a chaste kiss on the back of it. “I must go,” he said as his other hand grew white as he clutched the vial tighter in his grasp. “I have certain things to attend to before the night is out.”

Though mystified and more than slightly concerned about him, Belle murmured a goodbye. With a wave, Jefferson placed his hat on the ground, spun it once and it began to twirl faster and faster until a great hole appeared. Before the hole had stopped growing, Jefferson walked straight into it and it vanished as if it had never been.

Belle rounded on her husband before he could say so much as a word. “Tell me about Wonderland!” she exclaimed breathlessly and she grasped at his hands in her excitement. “Tell me everything!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, yes, I know. I did not write a story about Hat Trick but instead told the story from the Out of the Past comic about Jefferson's first (or prior) trip to Wonderland. It's very sad and it explains exactly why Jefferson is how he is when we first meet him in Hat Trick. I will of course revisit some of the key parts of Hat Trick (perhaps even in the next chapter but no promises) as I loved quite a few of the themes Jefferson discusses with Emma in Storybrooke.
> 
> Also, tomorrow is my birthday so please feel free to leave a comment as an early birthday present. <3


	21. The Elixir

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thirty-Second Day

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For my birthday, you all were wonderful in your beautiful comments. Nia- Nita (goddess she is) also drew me a picture for the Story Teller which is so hauntingly beautiful, I insist you stop what you are doing and see it before you read this chapter.
> 
> http://b-does-the-write-thing.tumblr.com/post/159420629057/nia-sketches-happy-belated-birthday

“It is not my story to tell.”

That was all Rumpelstiltskin said before he brushed past her back into the heart of the castle. Belle trailed behind him as she shot questions at him like darts, tripping over her own lines of inquiry. 

“How does portal jumping across worlds work?”  
  
“Are Wonderland’s inhabitants the same as us or fanciful creatures?”

“Do you know any stories from there?”

“When was Jefferson there?”

“Why is called Wonderland?”

“Can I go with you next time?”

They were midway up a flight of stairs when she asked this last question and her husband whirled about to growl at her, “Enough!” 

His teeth snapped and gnashed but his dark magic was noticeably absent.  Belle smiled pleasantly up at him before taking his arm and tugging him back up the staircase. He had been headed towards his study and she saw no reason why the couldn’t go there. “Did your trip not go well then?” she guessed and he grumbled something less than flattering under his breath. “It’s Juul so I am going to ignore that,” Belle replied evenly. “Even though you missed dinner.”

Rumpelstiltskin's other hand curled about his prize, the small vial with the words Drink Me written on it in big bold letters for such a small object. Belle pretended she did not notice it but he was not fooled. “It’s a potion,” he told her as he lifted it up to the torch light. The odd clear elixir glowed pearly white despite the orange and yellow glare of the fire. “It will enlarge the consumer to the size of an ogre.”  The word dropped like a rock in a well. Ripples broke out to wash over her as a shiver ran down her back. Rumpelstiltskin stilled on the landing to take her shoulders in his hands. “Belle?”

She did not see him. Her gaze was in the past...in the ruins of an abandoned hall...and the dripping maw of the beast as it reached down to seize her mother in it’s palm.

A sharp pinch brought her back to her husband’s side and though he frowned at her in annoyance, his grip on her was so tight Belle knew she would have bruises come morning.   “I...I don’t what just happened,” Belle said as if to shake her head free of the memory. It had faded as quickly as it had come but for a moment...for a moment it had been as if she had been there all over again...a child under a great slab of fallen wall….too paralyzed to even scream as she watched her mother’s ripped away from her.

“It’s the castle,” Rumpelstiltskin replied. “Juul is one of the solstices...all magic is stronger now, hence my trip to Wonderland.”

Jefferson’s episode in the great hall made a great deal more sense. The castle's payment was dreams...but if the magic was heightened by the solstice...the castle inhabitants were more susceptible to waking dreams and memories. Belle sucked in a deep, wavering breath to rid herself of the residue of the vision. “Jefferson had a similar episode,” she confessed to her husband. “I assumed…”

“He was mad?” Rumpelstiltskin said with a grin. He released her but did not step away. “I noticed you were upset when I visited your rooms earlier. I thought perhaps…”

“You fled to Wonderland,” Belle said in an attempt to alleviate the tension through humor. Too late, she remembered who and what her husband was but to her surprise, he snorted.

“I took the opportunity that presented itself,” he admitted. T hey remained silent for a moment before he glanced over at her, a curious look on his pointed features. “What did you see?” he finally asked. It was simple curiosity and Belle heard her own inquisitiveness mirrored in his question.

“My mother’s death,” she admitted. “We were on a trip to the East Empire...a rare attempt at diplomacy to secure aide. Father had gone ahead but Mama realized we were close to some ruins...a place of learning before the wars came to the Middle Kingdom. We snuck away...me and her to see them. Mama...Mama had a love for the land. She wanted to stop and show me everything...every river, every valley...my birthright, she told me, every time something took our breath away.”

It had been the best days of Belle's young life. She had been on the cusp of womanhood...about to flower any day but still in the fantasy world of a sheltered child. The war and its terrors were as real to her as story villains, something to be vanquished and overcome by a true hero. Belle had little doubt her father and the great emperors of the east would come to an accord, a hero would rise from obscurity and recuse them all.

Instead, an ogre, a rogue one lost or separated from the great horde in the west, had heard her and her mother exploring the ruins and had come out from wherever it had been hiding to seize them.

“Mama pushed me under a great fallen section of the wall. She climbed in after me...but there wasn’t….it dragged her out from underneath it and I…”

The guards that had found her later that evening had told Lord Maurice that the only thing that had saved Belle was being wedged too tightly between the fallen wall and a raised stone table it rested on to be be fished out by the ogre’s clumsy, fat fingers. 

“But I could have gotten out,” Belle admitted in a soft whisper. “I could have crawled out after her...I could have done something.”

Her husband’s eyes narrowed. “You could not have saved her.”

Belle let out a mirthless laugh. “I knew that, but I could have tried. Instead, I cowered like a coward as she died.”

Tears were coursing down her cheeks but it was her husband who raised his hand to wave them away. He could have used his magic but his thumbs brushed so gently underneath her eyes that had she had her eyes closed, she would have thought a ghost brushed them away. 

“Had you been so foolish you would have perished as well.”

:I could have tried,” Belle repeated stubbornly. “I could have distracted it or-”

“You are far too intelligent to think such rubbish,” Rumpelstiltskin said firmly. “Your mother knew you would be safe. Ogres are notoriously idiotic creatures. It probably only remembered seeing your mother disappear underneath that wall. It had mostly likely entirely forgotten there was two pieces of flesh to be had or if would have sat on the wall to squash you flat.”

Belle’s breath caught in her throat and her husband growled at himself. “What I meant was, your mother was intelligent enough to know there had to be a sacrifice. You could not outrun an ogre, nor hide from it.”

Stories of soldiers being chased down by the huge creatures were common. A few horses might manage to outrun the long strides of their adversaries but no man could and if someone tried to hide...ogres may have poor memories but they had almost a sixth sense for trailing anything that’s heart pumped blood. 

‘Do you remember your mother?” Belle asked.

She immediately regretted it. Her husband did not respond but a chasm opened between them. “I have things to attend to,” he said and it was as a great wall had come down between them. “It’s late. You should go to bed.”

Belle had no concept of what time it was truthfully but she nodded. The heightened emotions of Juul and her memory of her mother’s death had drained her more than she would like to admit.

“Will you...will you come to bed this eve?” Belle asked him and she could not quite tell if she wanted him to not.  Perhaps that was she asked, she thought as he quirked a brow at her.

“When I finish,” he said quietly and without another word, turned away and stalked up the next flight of stairs until he was lost to the shadows.

\--  
  


If she dreamed, she did not remember it come morning. She woke alone in her bed. There was no sun outside. Clouds rolled in, dark and foreboding as her husband’s dark magic. The air felt heavy and thick with lighting and Belle could not tell what time it was except for the urgent pressure in her lower body that indicated she needed to relieve herself.

By the time she made it to the kitchen for something to break her fast, it had begun to rain. The castle let her hear the crack of thunder and the howl of wind outside as the winter storm raged across the abandoned lands of the North Kingdom. Belle made herself something quick to eat, fully intending to return to her room to watch the storm when she made the unexpected decision to make something for Rumpelstiltskin as well. 

He was still in his study when she found him. He wore the same clothes from last night, through his shirt was unbuttoned and his vest discarded. He did not look tired, he never looked tired because he did not need sleep, but he was grumpy when she entered the room.

Vials and beakers smoked and frothed on the long table before him. Scrolls and parchments were scattered among them as if discarded or forgotten and the room smelled of sweat and something cloyingly sweet.   “I told you I’d join you when I finished,” he said testily before he returned his attention to his work. “This is a very delicate procedure and I cannot have any distractions.”

“You should eat,” Belle said as she approached him. He begrudgingly took the plate from her hand and set it by his left elbow. He promptly forgot its existence and nearly put his elbow in it. “Alright,” Belle said with a sigh. “If you won’t rest or eat, how can I help?”

He giggled and Belle’s hands tightened in fists at her side at the sound. It was the Dark One’s laugh...the laughter of the darkly insane monster that had locked her in a basement. It was her husband’s dark side and its presence was not a good sign for the day to come. 

Before the darkness could overwhelm them, Belle went to the window, safely out of his sight. The curtain was dragged closed over it as well, but it pulled sharply aside as she arrived at it. Belle tossed a quick smile over her shoulder but her husband’s back was to her. The only clue he had done the magic was his hand which was still half raised over his shoulder as if he had forgotten it entirely.  At this great height, they were almost among the clouds. A bolt of lightning illuminated the sky and a not a second later, a great crack of thunder shook the tower. 

“Can’t get anything done with this racket,” her husband grumbled but his tone was low. “Worse than those infernal storms in Victor’s neck of the woods.

“The Land Without Color?” 

“What will Jefferson not tell you?” 

She smiled at his tone. It was one of exasperation but there was a kernel of amusement in it as well. “He didn’t get around to telling me much about his daughter,” Belle admitted. “Do you know her?”

“I did.”

Belle’s breath must have caught because he sighed and pushed away from the table. “Now, now,” he said as he stood. “She lived a very long time ago, long before your parents were even born.”

Belle had to bite her lip but Rumpelstiltskin saw it. He shook his head at her but picked up the plate of food she had brought him. “I suppose I shouldn’t let this go to waste,” he said as he eyed it.  He caught her looking at his experiment and shrugged. “It’ll keep,” he said in a clear reversal of his earlier dedication to the project. 

He moved towards the door and Belle followed after him. Behind her, the curtain moved back into position to block the window. The room darkened as they exited and Belle tossed one more curious look at the experiment to see it glowing the same odd pearly white as the elixir Rumpelstiltskin had brought back from Wonderland.

“Yes,” his voice floated back from down the stairs. “I’m recreating the elixir.”

“Why?” Belle asked as she followed him. He was moving deliberately slow, so she quickly able to catch up with him.  He shot her a look and Belle bristled at the silent indication that she was a moron. “I’m just asking,” she said primly. “I would assume it has something to do with the ogres?”

“Assumptions are dangerous,” he said with a snort. “You tell me. What am I brewing up there in the storm clouds?”

“A potion that makes the consumer as large as a giant,” Belle replied smoothly. Such a potion would turn the tide of the Ogre War...if every man of Avonlea could take it...they would be on equal footing as their adversaries but with a century of how their enemies weaknesses and an intellect the ogres could not fathom. “A gift like that would end the war forever,” Belle said as the possibilities occurred to her. No more brides, no more soldiers, no more death.

“Gift?” her husband chuckled. “Wife, pull your head from the clouds. I have no intention of gifting this.”

They arrived at the library, and in silent agreement, entered it. The fire was already roaring as if it had known they were coming and while the windows were drawn closed, the sound of the rain pelting the windows was present enough to be soothing. 

“Another deal?” Belle tried and failed to keep the outrage from her voice. “Rumple-”in her outrage she did not even bother to say his full name, “that’s terrible!”

He plopped down into a great wing back chair. He winked up at her and wiggled his free hand. “I am the Dark One, dearie.”

Belle planted her hands on her hips and scowled down at him. “I am not your dearie. I am your wife.”

“Yes,” he said with a hum of approval. The plate disappeared as he tugged her down into his lap. “Yes, you are.” He nuzzled at her neck as his hands slowly slid down to rest on her waist. Her skirts were trapped between them but Belle tossed her hair out of her face, put both her hands on his chest and raised herself up to glare back down at him. The effect was not quite the same as he had a firm grip on her backside and a smug grin on his face but she was not to be deterred by something as simple as his lustful appetite.

“Rumple-”

“I do so enjoy how you say my name,” he murmured as his hands began to pluck at the laces in the back of her gown. 

“Rumple-!”

That last bit was unintentional. She had meant to say his full name with the full wrath of her incredulity but he had managed to magicked her stays gone and the feel of his rather cold hands on her bare flesh startled her.  He grinned up at her as he guided her back down to straddle his lap. He sighed in pleasure as she lowered her hips onto his, but when he drew a hand to her bodice, she stilled him.

“Rumple.” He stopped. He looked up at her with clear eyes and waited. “If you planned on making a deal with a hero, you would have given them the small vial from Wonderland. However, you are making enough for an army.” He traced the bare skin of her arms as she spoke but his expression did not change. “A deal with Avonlea would gain you nothing,” Belle continued. “You already have the deal for the wall to stay in place for another two hundred years. So, why make deal now? Why not wait another two hundred years until this deal ends?”

“Avonlea does not have another five years, much less two hundred,” he said quietly. “You know that, don’t you?”

She inhaled sharply but nodded. There were six children left in the entire Middle Kingdom and the whole lands had long ago made it clear that they would not send no more aid. After all, it was not their battle. Not yet.  “The Ogres will move on,” Belle said softly. “To another land.”

“The West Way has already started to see signs of the end,” he admitted. “Their leader has made inquires into my name...I doubt it will be much longer.”

“Why them?” Belle’s voice was so soft, she barely heard it herself. “Why now?

He had the decency not to lie to her. “Because I have what I want,” he said as his grip tightened on her. “I have what was promised to me a century ago.”

“A bride?”  
  
He shook his head. “A wife.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the radio silence, lots of new things going on in my life and changes is sweeping up a lot of my free time. Many of you may know that I do not watch OuaT anymore (in fact have not in several years) but I keep up with canon developments. So, I heard a lot of the current casting changes and have seen some people are very upset over it and all i can offer is canon-divergent fiction but I hope it helps if you need it. 
> 
> Now, as far as the end, the Dark One/Rumple is still not a "good guy" in this tale. I use the word still but it's possible he might never be. This is a dark retelling after all. A gothic fairy tale so to speak. His end statement is terrifying in its simplicity. He let an entire kingdom die out until he found what he wanted. He was searching for a wife, a mother to his child, a future he had been denied in the past and he admits to Belle, he has found it in her.  
> Now, you all know Belle well enough by chapter 21 to know she is not going to like this one little itty bitty bit. Yes, she is going to get her wish to be the last of the brides but her husband had the power to end this terrible suffering and he didn't because he hadn't gotten what he wanted yet. That's some troubling stuff to process and Belle has only been there thirty something days. She has adjusted but she still is way over her head in the things she does not know. 
> 
> Also, sorry this is the second chapter without a 'story'- I'll try very hard to get one next time but in the interim, I hope this still passes muster.


	22. The Breaking Point

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Thirty-Third Night

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Not a happy/light chapter; TW: blood

_Her name was Grace._

_He doesn’t say her name any more. At first he said it as a prayer... then he said it as a mantra, than a rebuke and finally a reminder until one day her name would no longer come._

_Her face had long since vanished from his memory. All he could recall was her hair had been blonde...they had played hide and seek in the woods and her mother….her mother’s name had been Priscilla. He had called her Prissy...only in private though, only when her red hair was sprayed out across a pillow and her eyes soft with happiness…_

_His Prissy….long gone from this life. He should have learned. He should have remembered!_

_One does not abandon family._

_One does not leave them behind to run off to Wonderland because if one does, one will lose them one by one._

_He made rhymes up sometimes. Little reminders of the things he should have remembered, promises he should have kept. Sometimes he still dreamed of white rabbits running ahead of him, the ticking of a clock stealing time away one eternity after another, and a table set for tea...a child’s blonde head bent to the empty chairs as if accepting no one was ever arriving._

_But most nights he dreamed of the hallway….of the doors….silent and foreboding...watching him...waiting for him...reminding him._

_No more. No less._

_That was the golden rule. He would forget most everything but he mustn't forget that. Even his name disappeared from his memory in time. Everyone called him “That Mad Hatter” anyways, and it was a good a name as any. He did not deserve the names they had once called him. Love, Papa, Dearest Jefferson...he had lost the rights to those when he broke his promise, when he had lost his hat._

_Stories. Stories. What’s a story?_

_This bride told stories as armor, as a way to remind herself, to remember to be brave. She told them as if they were weapons to be wielded, a shield to hide behind and a grave in which to lie._

_Brainless, he called her, though her name was the promise of beauty. She lived up to both her names. She saw but she did not believe. She sprouted stories without understanding the history behind them, understanding the truth to be in the story’s message instead of the story’s past._

_Imagination had to come from somewhere. No one could make up the story of the Mad Hatter. It was too terrible to comprehend one man making the same mistake twice._

_How he hated Wonderland._

_The mushrooms were as tall as trees, creatures that were once beneath his boot blowing smoke rings into his face and lunatics convinced of their own sanity who had driven him into his own madness._

_Time did not exist here. Clocks could jump forward or back so that one was never certain if it was day or night despite the shapes in the sky. Bodies did not age, hair did not gray, skin did not wrinkle and age did not exist in Wonderland._

_If he had ever truly loved them, he would never have left them._

_Someone had told him that once….and it echoed in his ears even when the thunder rolled or the walrus clapped or the Queen of Hearts chopped off his head. It echoed every stitch he sewed, every hat he spun, every failure, every mistake, every minute of every day until it drowned out everything else._

_It wasn’t until his past found him there, in the heart of the castle, that he heard his true name again._

_Ole Dragonhide told him it had been nearly a hundred years. A century. A lifetime._

_His old business partner brought him back to the world he had once known, but everything was different. The world he had known had disappeared. It was behind one of those doors in that long hallway, and he jumped back and forth, to and fro looking for the world he had left behind._

_He came and went from the Dark Castle, Ole Dragonhide did not seem to mind. It was not home but….it was a place to go. It took him nearly a half a century to realize the lady in the dungeon was not the same woman, not a prisoner but a bride, not a guest but a pawn._

_The Mad Hatter visited them when he could. Some were sad, some were bad and some were as mad as he was. He would sit with them if they let him but they blurred together in his mind. None of them listened to him, none of them had understood though he tried..._

_Until this one had opened her eyes._

_Grace had blue eyes. He remembered that as this one stared up at him with eyes as clear blue as the sky, as deep as the sea, and as guileless as his daughter’s and he let himself believe perhaps some stories do have happy endings._

\--

The storm broke by dawn. The window was streaked and as the lighting faded so did her view of the mountains in the distance. Avonlea was beyond them...and so were the ogres.

Belle’s eyes fell shut. It was a relief. They were swollen and red, dry as corn husks and tender as a sunburn. She had been crying under cover of the storm for nearly the entire night, unleashing her own turmoil into the sky’s own release. Her husband could not hear her over the great crashing of sound, nor see her face, tear stained and twisted unless he perfectly timed his arrival with that of the lighting splitting open the sky.

No, she had been safe to cry, to mourn and to grief the countless lives lost in her husband’s pursuit of a child. She splayed her hand on her own abdomen though she doubted any life grew there. She had feigned a headache there in the library, her husband’s hands on her bare skin and his words echoing in her ear.

A bride.

A wife.

A child.

Other futures sacrificed for his whim. How many children had died, or had never come to be so that this one might?

She caught sight of her own reflection, startling her from her own hellish reviere. It was not possible for her to produce one more tear, but her fingers curled into a fist. As the dawn’s early light tipped the mountains, Belle’s hand crashed into her reflection in the pane and the sound of splintering glass was louder than any clap of thunder.

\--

“Is he sending me back to the dungeon?”

Jefferson did not respond. He stood beside the window, the curtain back in place with the mountains hidden from her view forever more. She did not stir from her bed, did not sit up to meet her friend or make an effort to welcome him. She had expected him for some time now though she could not tell if she was glad to see him or wished for him to leave.

He did deign to reply. He slowly sank down onto one knee, and picked some sliver of glass from the carpet, it shone silver in the candle he held in his other hand. Belle’s knuckles ached at the mere sight of it. Her hand throbbed and burned as her other hand closed about it and squeezed. A reminder, a penance, a promise.

“Why?” was all he said.

“You know why,” Belle laughed though there was no humor in it. It was her husband’s laugh, cold and relentless, mocking the listener and mocking herself. “Were you in on his little scheme?”

“Which one?” Jefferson said as he stood. He tucked the sliver of glass into the brim of his hat, and it winked at her. His eyes were bright in the candle’s light.

Belle looked away lest he see something reflected in her own gaze. “That one where he let an entire kingdom die out until he found someone foolish enough to believe it was as simple as giving him a heir.”

“Foolish?” Jefferson interrupted and for the first time since she had known him, his tone was as hard as iron. “You think after everything you know, that this is some sort of game?”

“He killed them!” Belle exclaimed as she sat bolt upright in the bed. She lifted her hands to his face, one wrapped in a bandage which had been as clear as snow until she had pressed it and squeezed it until blood stains had started to show. “Every last one of them from the brides to the children who starved to death or the men who were butchered on the fields. He let them die and I- I convinced myself I was different- that I could make a difference-”

“You are!” Jefferson hissed as he bent down to her. The light hung between them as sweat dripped down into her eye. “You saved your people,” he said, quieter this time though the ferocity of his tone did not abate. “You saved Avonlea. You saved the Western Way and the Eastern Empire and every other land to the south and to the east and to the west. Children will hear the story of the beauty who tamed the beast for centuries and you tried to throw it all away!”

“Lies!” Belle laughed, but her own voice betrayed her and it broke into a sob. “I’m as much his prisoner as the day he brought me here. I can’t do this,” she whispered as she clutched at her own body. “I thought I was brave enough, that I could be enough but,” she shook her head, “I just ended up fooling myself.”

Jefferson sat down heavily on the bed and took her injured hand in his own. “You were testing the bounds of his law?”

Belle inhaled sharply but the tears would no longer be kept at bay. “No,” she admitted. “It...it wasn’t like that but he was so angry,” she told Jefferson as her fingers squeezed tight. “He- he told me he-he would grant me what I wanted.”

Jefferson’s eyes did not falter from her face. “What do you want, Belle?”

She shook her head, unable to articulate what had driven her in that moment to drive her fist through the glass partition, to test her husband’s deal…

She had not possessed the love of her husband. Nor had she sought to escape or to test her power. She had only wanted to feel something, something other than the terrible guilt that consumed her at her husband’s words...so she had thrown her fist into the glass and her hand had gone out into the night air. Before Belle had even screamed in pain, her husband had appeared behind her and wrenched her away from the window, her palm catching on the glass and cutting it open in a jagged wound.

He had looked down at her, where she laid clutching her fist to her chest in agony, and he had said nothing, done nothing but lift her into the bed as if she was a rag doll. She had tried to push him away, but he had resisted her, catching her maimed hand in his but no magic touched her. He had wrapped her trembling appendage in a linen cloth, silent as the grave. He did not ask why. He had only said, “If this is what you wish, then so be it.” Then, he had disappeared without another word. It was nearly night now, and she had seen no sign of her husband all day.

The castle had brought her food, water, wine, fresh bandages, vials of medicine, ice and warm towels and she had ignored it all. She had pressed her broken hand into her stomach and let the pain wash over her. “Jefferson,” Belle said and though he did not reach for her, his eyes grew softer. “Jefferson, I just wanted to feel something besides..besides…”

Jefferson did not wait to hear what she had been seeking. “He’s sending you home,” he said softly and he reached out to press something into her hand, a vial that shone pearly white despite the dark room. “He’s sending you back to Avonlea with their salvation in your hands.”

He stood abruptly but Belle barely saw it as she gazed down at the vial labeled DRINK ME and as tears dripped down onto the label, she almost didn’t hear his final reply. “What story will they tell of this now, I wonder?” he said to the darkness and if she had looked up, she might have seen her husband’s eyes in Jefferson’s face.

She might have seen the truth after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, well, I'm not sure what entirely to say. First, we do get Jefferson's back story as it were....which I've owed you guys for two chapters now but it's also at the price of finding Belle very, very lost and very, very confused in her role and in her future. 
> 
> Below is my breakdown of why I wrote this chapter the way I did, what it means, and why you shouldn't hate me forever. 
> 
> Belle has been dealing with her husband's darkness for twenty chapters now, and last chapter, in what could arguably called a great point for them (flirtatious banter! nicknames! foreplay!) he drops this bomb about knowing how to end the war this entire time but choosing not to (or that's how Belle understands it). Some of you may be sitting here and going "WTF B. WTF THIS Is DARK This iS SAD- THIS IS-" This is the Story Teller, yes, and I never promised an easy happy ever after. However, I hope you all understood some of what Belle was feeling and if you have never felt so lost, confused, exasperated, frustrated and just angry at the world, others and yourself in general that you haven't been tempted to put your fist through the mirror- than you a lucky SoB. (Also, if you do ever feel like this, I found a great alternate is to throw ice cubes as hard as you can into the tub. It's incredibly therapeutic without being harmful to yourself or damaging anything around you)
> 
> Now to address Rumple in this chapter. We have never gotten a POV from him and at this time, I don't plan on it. So, we only see things from Belle's perspective and she is a flawed narrator in the sense she doesn't know everything that is going on (and has a bit of a "know it all" tendency AKA Belle isn't perfect either) Imagine confessing to this woman who had wormed her way into your life, who has surprised you in every way, that you see her differently now, and then have her try and commit suicide. (She wasn't by the way, but he doesn't know that- all he knows is she broke the glass, broke the boundary deal and almost cut her wrist) And what does he do? Does he kill her in spite? Does he throw her out of the castle?
> 
> Nope! He puts on the face of the one person he knows she will trust, who she might talk to, and he tries to understand what's going on. Is this the best way to communicate? Nah, probably not but Dark Ones aren't the best at this kind of thing either. Notice how there wasn't a speck of dark magic flying around in this chapter? (It's important so if you didn't note it, I just did for you <3) 
> 
> So, we're leaving them here. Belle, lost & confused, at her breaking point in a myriad of ways, Rumple trying to do the right thing her and now, and Jefferson off trying to find his way to a home that no longer exists. Oh, and if you're wondering why he didn't heal her hand by magic, wait till the next chapter for more on that. 
> 
> Next time, we have Daniel's story- and that's one about love and loss so you know it's going to be good.


	23. One Last Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thirty-Fourth Day

Home.

Belle clung to that word in the stillness of the evening, long after Jefferson had left her to her thoughts. Avonlea rose to meet her in the shadows of the early evening, the home she had thought she would never see again.

If the winter rains had come, the castle would be frozen over, icicles dangling from the towers, windows frosted and no matter how many fires roared in the halls, the rooms would still be damp and cold, the inhabitants huddled together for warmth and companionship.

The smell of pine trees and mead would scent the halls, the pine to cover the scent of unwashed bodies and the mead to ease the close quarters a frost always brought. The children would be underfoot in everything, the maids would have to be roused from their beds, and the stable lads tucked in the kitchen so as not to freeze to death out in the barns. 

In every way, Avonlea was the exact opposite of the Dark Castle, the place which Belle had thought she would live until her dying day. Here, the halls were as warm as a mild summer day despite the snowy mountains in the distance. Here, there was no one but her husband and herself, save the odd visitor. Here, there was threat of death behind every door, magic coiled in the unlikeliest of places, madness and darkness spreading through the air, infecting and manipulating as sure as any sickness. 

Her eyes drifted to the covered window as she raised her wounded hand to her cheek. Pain radiated up her arm as Jefferson’s words echoed in her head. He was sending her home. 

She held her people’s salvation in her hand, and yet….Magic always came with a price.

Belle wavered for a moment. She could trust Jefferson, and if he said her husband was sending her home…Her hand went to her stomach. Did her husband know something she did not? 

A child. Born from some desperate deal, would it carry its father’s magic? Belle’s breath caught as her mind provided her scenarios from a child disappearing at will, scaled, puckered flesh and clawed talons waving in the air as an unholy scream pierced the air. Belle’s stomach rolled at the thought of putting this child to her breast. 

She pushed the thought ouf of her mind, but it something still whispered in the recesses of her mind. That same something which had driven her to drive her fist into the window, something wild and reckless which would not listen to reason. 

Nan had always said she had been a hellion as a child, running wild over the walls and turrets of Avonlea until her mother had taken her to the library and taught her to read. The written words had taken her on the adventures she had not been able to find in the stones of Avonlea, and Belle had been content to live vicariously through stories. 

Until she had found herself in one.

\--

It took her little time to find him.

He sat at his spinning wheel. His head bowed to the rhythm, he reminded Belle of the harpists that had come to Avonlea once years ago. At her approach, he stilled ever so slightly, just enough for an acknowledgment before he continued.

Belle wasted little time. After all, any moment he could snap his fingers and her time here would be just another bad dream, which would wear away with time until it would be a memory so faint, she may have thought she had dreamed it. For some reason, that bothered her. 

“Am I with child?” The spinning wheel stopped sharply, but he did not look up at her. “Am I with child?” Belle repeated as she took one step closer to him. “Is that why you are sending me home with the answer to my people’s prayers? Have I paid your price?

The fire crackled in the silence between them. They stood barely three fell apart but there was an invisible gulf. If she stepped one inch closer, Belle was certain she would plummet down, down, down and be lost entirely.

“No,” he said finally and Belle’s entire body relaxed as if that word alone had released her. Yet, she could not retreat now. There was still the matter of the deal to discuss.

“Then, why?”

HIs head swiveled to stare up at her. “Why?” he repeated and his voice was dangerously soft and low. “You break the boundaries of my castle wall and you ask me why?”

“I didn’t-” Belle began but he stood stood so swiftly, she stumbled backwards to avoid being struck. His hand darted out to grasp her and wrenched her back to him. His free hand buried itself in her hair as he pulled her to him in an embrace. 

He was not gentle in his ministrations, and Belle had little time to think. Her body reacted, one hand clutching his shoulder to stay upright and the other maimed one against his chest as if to push him away. Her lips answered his, and her mind blissfully went blank as if wiped clean.

No magic surrounded them. Nothing stirred, no noise penetrated the haze of the sensation as her husband deepened the kiss and Belle opened to him for a split second before she wrenched herself away. “No...” she murmured with a shake of her head. Her legs were unsteady but her husband did not move towards her. He stood immobile, eyes as bright as torches. “No,” she repeated again, more certain this time. 

“Are you or are you not my wife?” 

There it was. His magic hung heavy on his shoulders, his eyes narrowed into slits. Hyper aware of his fingers, hanging still at his side, Belle lifted her chin an inch taller. “I did not step foot outside the castle walls,’ she said pointedly.His gaze went to her injured hand and Belle bristled. “It wasn’t as if I planned it! You-you impossible man!” she exclaimed with a stomp of her foot. Her cheeks were burning as the emotions of the past twenty hours ignited all at once. 

As she burned hot as a fire, a looming shadow seemed to swallow her husband. “You’re acting like a child,” he snapped back with a clash of his terrible teeth. “Are you not prized beyond all others? Cared for? Free to roam the halls of my estate at your leisure?” He took a step towards her and Belle willed herself to stay still as his magic lashed out towards her. “Did I not give you my name? My issue? Allow you companionship?” He sneered at her. “Did I not spare your miserable kingdom when I should have razed it to the ground for your disobedience?”

Belle slapped him.

Retaliation came swiftly. Even as her arm shook with the impact, something snaked out from the hovering cloud of malevolence to lash her across her cheek. Belle recoiled, her hand going to her cheek but his hand was there first. “No!” he snapped but it was not at her. He pulled her flush against him, her head tucked beneath his chin and his arms wrapped tightly around her. His heart thundered against her cheek as her blood soaked into his linen shirt. He jerked twice as if struck but he made no other noise but a soft crooning. After a moment that stretched into an oblivion, he slowly released her and stepped back, turning as if to leave. 

Her bloody cut had left a dark spot over his heart. She reached out to touch the smear across his chest and he in turn moved closer again, as if drawn back to her by an invisible string. His claws gently tapped her cheekbone and though it stung, she did not pull away but stared back up at him, her heart in her throat. Slowly, she shifted her touch to his shoulder, ever so gently, until he pivoted to face away from her, exposing the tatters of his leather jacket.

Strips had been torn away, the linen underneath shredded and red welts were already swelling where his own magic had lashed out in its quest to get to her. “It would have me tear you apart,” he said to the air before him as her fingers ghosted over the savagery across his spine. It was the first time he had acknowledged the darkness that surrounded him, and though his tone did not change, Belle had the unnerving sensation that her husband feared his darkness more than she did.

When he turned back to her, his golden eyes were lidded, and he did not look right at her though his fingers flexed at his side as if he was containing himself from reaching back out to her. “I have thoughts of you at my feet, still and pale as all the others, and it seems inevitable as time itself. You are not safe here.”

For the briefest of instances, the man, the spinner, looked at her from behind those golden eyes, and though Belle did not know him, she ached for the man who had lost his son and his humanity. Was he too a prisoner here? Twisted and warped into the magic’s image, and carrying out its will upon the world?

Spent, his darkness had disappeared from the room, and for the moment, it felt like there was just the two of them in the world. He took her injured hand in his and with a wave of his fingers, the sharp pain faded from her arm as if it had never been. She grasped his fingers in her own whole ones, the skin tight and hot with new scar tissue, a silver thread across her palm as the magic’s price. “Why?” she asked him, and with that one word, a million different questions spilled from her unspoken. 

The castle creaked as if it could answer her, and Rumpelstiltskin shot the stone walls around them a filthy look for the intrusion. Belle took the opportunity to lead him back to the couch before the fire and as they sank down into it, she did not let go of his hands. With so much darkness and confusion, the stakes as high as life and death themselves, to let go now meant severing whatever truth might come from this moment. He would retreat back into the darkness, and she might wake up back in Avonlea, or in the dungeon, or may never wake at all. 

The great distance between them was only bridged by the tenuous connection of the moment, her with blood on her cheek and his back raw. “The end to the war is on my vanity, but at what price, Rumpelstiltskin?” His eyes were orange in the light of the flames as they traced her face. She did not doubt for a moment that the elixir in her room would do as he said, that it was the end of suffering and despair after centuries of death and destruction. “I have not given you a heir,” Belle reminded him as she moved his hand to her stomach. 

His fingers splayed across it as he shifted closer to her. “I would rather you live,” he spoke to the back of his hand where it lay heavy across her womb. “I would hear your name on the winds, on others people lips than read it on a gravestone. If you stay here, death is the only thing that will come. No life can grow here. I should have known that.”

A tear fell from her eye, and as it ran down into the cut on her cheek, there was a sharp, sweet burn. Her eyes fell closed as her husband’s touch drew away, and moved to rest against her cheek. “You wish to leave?” he asked her and she did not trust herself to speak, so she only nodded. She had to...her people needed her far more than the Dark One did...and if honor bound her to stay here and be his wife, duty demanded she return home with Avonlea’s salvation. Another tear fell, but his thumb caught it and slid it away. “I will make you a new deal, Belle, lady of Avonlea, daughter of the Middle Kingdom, and wife of the Dark One.”

She tried to shake her head, but he held her still. With her eyes closed, the world was a simple place. The Dark Castle could be any other large hall, the person beside her a husband who loved her and cherished her, and there would be no sorrow in her heart, no death waiting outside in the forms of monsters. In another world, she could be selfish and want the things she dare not to when her eyes were opened to the realities of the world. 

“You shall go to Avonlea with the answer to their prayers, and perhaps your brave knights will route the ogres from this world forever, or perhaps they will just the turn the tide to the Eastern Empire or the Western Way.” Belle protested at this, but he continued regardless. “It may not be in your lifetime, but it may still come. I will be there then, as I have always been, and I will make a new deal, but I will never take another wife.”

“And what shall I give you in return?” Belle demanded. “Take no husband?” 

He shook his head. “You are a woman of nobility, and even if you promised me that, you would not be able to keep it.Your father has sold you twice, I have little doubt he will do it again.”

Belle stomach rolled at this truth. She had been betrothed to Gaston, to ensure the valiant warrior stayed to defend Avonlea instead of leaving to guard another realm from less dire threats. Then, she had been a pawn in the deal that should have left her dead. Her ring glowed orange in the light of the fire, and she wondered if it would return with her to Avonlea or if like this world would disappear upon waking. Who would her next husband be?

“I ask you tell me stories from this day until your last,” he said. “Speak them aloud for yourself, for your future husband, for the children you will one day bear, and the grandchildren that will follow after them. Tell them to those who will surround you, but know you are speaking them for me.” 

Belle nodded and her husband hummed in approval. “I will let you sleep,” he said as he tore his gaze from her. “Tomorrow, you will be home.” He stood and before Belle could stop herself, she made a noise of protest, stilling him. “What?” he asked her, his eyes going to the cut on her cheek. He reached over as if to heal it, but Belle gently ducked away from his touch. 

A new day would see her home, but there was one thing she wanted first. Something frivolous and unnecessary and something she knew in her heart of hearts that she should not want, but if tonight was the last chapter in this story, she was going to end it the way she wished.

She stood, and took his hand, before gently tugging him towards the doorway. He protested for a half a heartbeat, but then he followed behind her. Up, they went, up the stairs to her room, and when the door closed behind them, he took her in his arms and for one last night, they came together as husband and wife.

\--

Afterwards, he did not leave her side. They lay side by side in her bed, and though her eyes were heavy, Belle did not dare close them. Their feet touched ever so slightly beneath the quilts, their bodies still flush with exertion and pleasure, and if their fingers brushed against each other over the covers, neither remarked on it. 

“What was your son like?” Belle asked into the darkness, the curtains shutting out the moonlight and the candles having all burned out as if even the castle knew a goodbye should not be prolonged. 

Her husband did not stiffen or snarl. “A light,” he said honestly and the bed creaked as Belle shifted to her side to stare at his silhouette. “He was warm and clever, and had a heart as bright as the sun.” He turned his head so he could gaze back at her. “He was a changeling child.”

“Why do you say that?” Belle asked as she scooted closer. Their voices were barely above whispers, and he shifted so she was drawn against him. Her fingers went to his back, and to no surprise, found it healed. The cool pillow against her cheek was indication he had healed that as well when her mind had been focused on other things at hand. Her husband did not shy away from using his magic as he saw fit. 

“I was...I was nothing. Small and cowardly, I would have rather crawled through the dirt than stand like a man...his mother…”

Belle let out a noise of derision at the mention of the woman who had taken her son’s book about his parents love and destroyed it to tell her own side of the story, to be a victim even as she left her family behind to pick up the pieces of their shattered home. 

“She did not have a heart left by the end, just a need that was never filled. Bae… Bae had nothing of either of us in him. He was everything that we could never be, and when I tried to become something more for him...he died.”

There was not guilt in his voice, but a quiet acceptance, a grief so deep that no one could cross it to reach out to bring him back to the other side. So, Belle did not try. She let herself imagine Baelfire with his dark brown eyes and a mischievous grin just like her husband’s, and when another smile took Baelfire’s place, another boy with a heart shaped face and a longer nose though he had the same brown hair, mussed and tossed as he laughed up at her in delight. 

The sight was so clear Belle jerked as if to tear herself out of this vision and her husband leaned up on his elbow to look down at her. “What is it?”

“Nothing...I just...I don’t want to fall asleep yet,” she admitted though still shaken. 

He arched a brow as he leaned back down to her and Belle laughed as he made his way down the length of her neck, his hands dipping back beneath the comforters. “Then, stay with me just a while longer,” he whispered and Belle let her eyes fall closed once more knowing for this brief instant, she could.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is not the chapter I set out to write. I had meant to write Daniel's story, and with that Belle's return back to Avonlea, but it did not feel right. There needed to be one last night, one last conversation and one last chance at understanding. 
> 
> A new deal offered....and many stories still untold but what waits for Belle upon her return to Avonlea is the next chapter in this story. 
> 
> As always, thanks for reading everyone!


	24. The Witch's Daughter & The Stable Boy

_The past never truly fades away._

_It is in every moment from the time a mother looks at her first born and remembers her wedding night to the silence when once upon a time lovers meet again. It is in the air at a loved one’s funeral and underfoot when the prodigal son comes home from a long journey._

_The past haunts the stories of the living, telling secrets and truths in prose and heroics, warning those who whisper it's words that it will come again._

_History repeats itself, and no one knows it better than those ageless creatures that walk the world, shadows on the walls, monsters under the bed, and stories that refuse to die._  
\--

If Belle dreamed, she did not remember it. One second, Rumplestiltskin's voice was in her ear and the next, the warmth of their bed had disappeared. She did not have to open her eyes to know she was back in her childhood bed, the signature magic of the castle, now like a second skin to her, was gone and in its place, a stillness.

Beside, the room was frigid. Belle’s teeth clattered in her head as she wrapped the quilt tighter around her though the worn fabric, familiar to her as her own name, did not comfort her. She had returned to Avonlea, and judging by the light coming through the closed curtains, it was early morning. She had probably slept less than an hour, if at all.

The air in here tasted stale, and there was a thin layer of dust covering the nightstand beside the bed. It had been closed off and shuttered from the rest of the world. Thirty odd days in disuse, and her chambers already had the air of a tomb.

A cursory glance to her left revealed the vial waiting for her on the dresser, the contents barely visible in the dawn’s early light. The words scrawled upon it were not legible at this distance and to any passerby it would appear to be simply another lady’s fancy, not the salvation of the world as she knew it. Juul had been but a day or so ago, the night her husband had returned from Wonderland with the strange elixir in his hands and yet, here she was in her old bed, home again in Avonlea as if she simply woken from a bad dream.

Goosebumps rose along her arms as Belle tried to think why she wasn’t relieved. Her wedding ring was still upon her finger, a remnant of the deal her father had made with her life. Now, the only reminder of her own deal and the husband she had left behind. Had he meant for it to be a token or had he simply not cared to reclaim it? It had belonged to his first wife, the one who had given him a child and perhaps it had been meant to bring one to their own union. Belle toyed with it absently, twisting it round and round as if it was some sort of charm.

Uncertain of what to do, Belle lingered until her stomach protested. Only then did she make her way to the door, whispering a short prayer under her breath that it would not be locked. In all luck, a maid would be making the rounds and could help her dress before fetching her father. His last memory of her would not be a favorable one, nor had she forgotten how he had turned away from her..Belle had been in her right to be frightened, though it did not give her any pride to recall her tears. Hopefully, her homecoming would redeem her in the eyes of her father. If the very least, it would end the war and bring some measure of prosperity to Avonlea.

By the Gods’ grace, the door opened easily into the hall. Belle padded out into the long corridor, the smells of the castle washing over her all at once. Bread baking, the sharp tang of chamber pots from the long night, and the scent of freshly laundered sheets so close-

The shriek startled Belle so badly she nearly screamed herself. At the top of the stairs, a poor maid had flung herself to the ground, the clean sheets floating about her like ghosts as they slowly fell to the floor.

Belle pressed a hand to her heart, the adrenaline from this greeting having woken her far more effectively than her body’s own needs. “It’s okay,” Belle attempted in hopes of calming the maid, but she was apparently out of practice. Her words were met with further shrieking and some hastily said prayers. The woman pulled the basket over her head entirely, her voice muffled. Belle moved closer but at her nearing proximity, the poor servant lost her mind entirely. “Ghost!” she shrieked and bodily flung herself down the stairs. “Ghost!”

“What is the meaning of all this racket!” a voice demanded from behind her and Belle swung around to see Gaston striding down the hall in nothing more than a dressing gown, falling off his bare chest. His appearance and dehabile struck Belle as odd; this was her family’s private wing. Gaston usually stayed in the knight’s barracks by the armory befitting his station.

When their eyes met, he stopped as if struck. His hand went to his bare hip as if to pull his sword from its scabbard. The maid took the opportunity to flee down the stairs, her cries breaking the quiet of the castle. “You,” he whispered and his face went as white as the fallen sheets by the stairs. “You’re...you’re dead,” he said as it to convince himself but his eyes fell to her chest as if he could hear how fast her heart was beating.

His eyes lingered across the sheer nightgown and where it parted at her breast. Cursing herself for not at least grabbing a dressing gown before coming out into the hall, Belle crossed her arms over her chest. She hadn’t expected such a scene when she had left her room undressed. She was alone and practically disrobed in the presence of a man. It may have been a man who would have been her husband but that time had passed.

Belle took a step towards her room and the privacy it offered. It was on the tip of her tongue to apologize, to explain, when another familiar voice caught her ear. “What in the name of the heavens is going on here?” Nan demanded as she huffed up the stairs. The basket and clean sheets were still strewn on the landing but when Nan gained the landing, she did not even notice them. At the sight of Belle, Nan sucked in a breath of air as if she had been struck. “Gods save us,” she whispered as she clutched the ancient railing for support. “Is that you, child? Is that really you?”

At the sight of her governess, a surrogate grandmother and a lifelong friend, Belle’s heart quickened. For the first time since she had woken up, she felt home. She was actually home. “Nan...it’s me,” Belle said, all to aware of Nan’s age and the steep staircase behind her. “It’s Belle.” She held her hand out to her old friend, the new scar across her palm barely visible in the corridor’s dim light.

Nan’s eyes flickered uncertainly from Belle hand to her face and then to something just behind her. Belle did not turn quickly enough for when the fist came crashing down upon her head, she only felt it in passing as unconsciousness roared up to meet her.

\--

The second time Belle awoke, she was back in her bed but this time, she was not alone. A man hovered over her, bent over her left leg as something tight pinched her inner ankle. She jerked it away, only to find both her arms were already bound to the headboard. “Gaston!” she exclaimed as she tugged ineffectively at her restraints. “Gaston, untie me this instant!”

He ignored her as he moved to her free leg. Knowing what he intended, Belle lashed her foot out to catch up squarely in the jaw, but he easily caught her ankle. She thrashed again, but he pinned her calf to the mattress , and made quick work of the last knot. Beyond Gaston, a chair had been wedged underneath the knob to ensure no one disturbed them

Belle made another vain attempt to free her right hand. “What do you think you are doing?” Belle demanded.. The bounds were tight and while her bed was mercifully narrow, her shoulders were already starting to strain. Gaston moved to the head of the bed to double check his handiwork as if she hadn’t spoken. Belle tried to calm the confused panic rising up in her chest, threatening to drown her where she lay. “Gaston, untie me at this instant!”

Her words were cut short as his fingers grasped her chin. Belle tried to turn away, but the knight held her firmly in place as he wound a strip of fabric into a gag, and stuffed it into her mouth. Within seconds, the fabric grew sodden. The taste of stale linen and dust motes choked her, effectively silencing her as the fabric swelled with saliva to chafe against her lips. “I do not know how you came to be back here,” Gaston said, “ but it does not matter. It seems the gods truly do favor me in my endeavors.”

Belle’s reply was muffled and distorted by the gag.

Gaston’s face broadened in what should have been a reassuring smile. As he took a step forward to loom over her, Belle had to resist shrinking away. “Don’t fret, my beloved,” he crooned but ice lingered in his eyes. “These restraints are just a precaution until I’ve had time to properly...understand how you came to be here and why.”

Belle tried to speak through the gag once more, but Gaston seemed disinterested. His eyes were flickering down her length. No longer a stranger to a man’s touch or desire, his intent was clear. He lowered his hand as if to caress her cheek, and Belle twisted her face away with a muffled protest.

Without mercy, he grasped the hair at the crown of her head, pulling her forward until her bound arms were almost wrenched out of socket. A noise of pain, almost guttural, tore from her throat as tears pricked her eyes. Gaston only chuckled at this, and in his cruel mirth, his handsome face twisted as if a mask had fallen away “Did you make such lovely noises for that monster?” he asked her, a finger trailing down her cheek in a pantomime of intimacy as he held her firmly in place.

Belle shook her head frantically, trying to alleviate the tension in her arms. With a scoff, Gaston released her to collapse back into the mattress before he knelt over her on the bed, hands going to his own dressing gown, as he fumbled with the knot of his sash. “Don’t play innocent with me, Belle.” He leaned down until his face was inches from her own. “You reek of him,” he whispered with a snap of his white teeth. He jerked her face back to his, and leered down at her with a snake’s smile. “I don’t know depravities you sank, but I look forward to finding out.”

His gown fell loose but Belle did not look away. Despite her childhood surroundings, she was a married woman now, no longer a stranger to carnality. She did not flinch away from him but controlled her breathing as best she could to exhale forcibly through her nose in a sound of which Rumpelstiltskin himself would be proud. Gaston stilled for half a heartbeat. “You little whore... so, you did bed the beast.”

Belle met his gaze unflinching. If she could speak, she would remind him she was the lady of the castle, daughter of the lord and wife to the Dark One, the savior and scourge of Avonlea. She would threaten him with every measure of justice for his impunity, and take no little enjoyment in actually carrying them out. But bound and gagged, she could do little but glare.

Gaston laughed as if he knew all too well her frustrations. His hand drifted to her hip, and Belle twisted away with a growl. The amusement disappeared from Gaston’s face, his patience spent. “This will go easier for you if you cooperate,” he warned her. “I do not have time for games.” In the distance, the morning bells rang out. It was the call to the yard for all soldiers in residence, a daily tradition when the barracks were full. It had woken her numerous times throughout her life, and yet never had Belle been so glad to hear it. The men would be gathering in the yard to wait for their commander, and here he stood, across the castle and still undressed.

Gaston cursed under his breath. “It’s later then I thought.” He surveyed his handiwork binding her in place and a contented smile flitted across his lips. “I doubt you’re very much of a threat, but I think perhaps a few hours to think about how you’d like to proceed would be enlightening.”

Belle jerked her left arm but the knot held firm. “We’re not done,” he warned her as he tied his sash close. “I’ll tell the castle of your...miraculous return,” he told her though there was no reassurance in his words. “We’ll celebrate properly later this evening. After you’ve had some time to think.”

Belle did not release the breath she had been holding as he moved the chair aside to exit her chambers. With one last glance over his shoulder, he raised a brass key to her and with another menacing smile, departed.

The key turning in the lock echoed long after he had gone.

\--

No one came to her rooms the rest of the day. The curtains had been left closed, and the fire unlit so the entire room stayed as cold as a grave. Every time footsteps passed her door, Belle struggled against the binding and tried to call out, but her voice was muffled and the knots held tight. Surely her father would come...surely he would at least want to see her....Nan’s absence could be explained if Gaston had refused to let her into Belle’s chambers, but her father was Lord, he answered to no one. Could he just not bear to face her?

Belle’s hands grew painful and finally numb and she tried to stretch them out, willing her fingers to flex but the ropes were too tight and the nooses around her wrists too taut to do much than send small pricks of sensation down her arms. When exhaustion started to wear at her, she fought to stay awake, not trusting herself to fall asleep.

Rumpelstiltskin skirted through her mind as the day wore on. Memories of the dungeons far below the castle proper, of his threats and his cajoling laughter, of the darkness he wore like a cloak and the golden sparkle of his scales in the lantern light but unbidden, other memories would interrupt these memories and scatter them into ashes. His touch, never reverent but certain and sure, ghosted over her skin where the bonds were tightest and in the curve of her hips where his fingers had pressed so recently. The Spinner’s Story and the Dealer King spun circles in her mind and even when Belle succumbed to her mounting exhaustion, it was her husband’s face she saw behind her eyes.

She conjured up hope that Jefferson might come to her, as he was wont to do when she least expected him, but part of her could not believe Jefferson existed beyond the walls of the Dark Castle. It was as if he belonged there in the magic and mayhem and mystic realms beyond this one.

Belle did not miss that world, nor her husband, and yet, she could not banish him from her mind. It was if something had been taken from her upon her return home. Whether it was her innocence of her naivety, Belle could not tell but she was not the woman she had been just weeks ago.

As always, it was a story that came to Belle there in her confusion and despair. A familiar story she had known as a child, one of her favorites that she had begged Nan to tell again and again...of two lovers who had perished together lest they live apart. She resisted for a moment, her days of telling stories were behind her now, far away in the dark castle where her husband prowled the halls.

Yet, still it came and when she could bear it no more, she started the story in her head. If she let her eyes blur, it was almost as if she was back in the Dark Castle, and her husband was just out of her sight but always there in the shadows around her.

\--

_In the lands beyond the sea, there lived a witch and her daughter. A maiden crafted from the bones of a fawn with the heart of a lamb and the feathers of a dove born in the light of the spring moon from the virgin earth. She was created for one reason, and one reason alone, to sway the heart of royalty and to earn her mother a throne._

_In a castle by the sea, there was a king and his son. A spoiled princeling born into riches and leisure and who had never spent so much as a moment concerned for others. This lad was born to rule over a kingdom, for his father to pass down his name and legacy._

_The witch’s daughter was as fair as the full moon, with hair the color of raven wings and eyes green as a pickled toad. Her voice was the croon of a mother’s lullaby and her smile as bright as the promise of dawn. She was an innocent born from great evil, and her duality was only part of her charm._

_The king’s son was as bright as the sun, with golden skin and hair so fair it was almost silver. His eyes were as blue as sapphires with lips as red as rubies and teeth like pearls. His touch was corruptible as any treasure, and his heart was cold as coins. He had no love in him; his beauty was deception._

_Born with the inability to speak a lie, the witch’s daughter had little to say. Her face spoke for her, words unnecessary in the expressive glint of her eye or the sweetness in her smile. She lived tucked away in a tall tower, her only visitor the witch._

_The prince only spoke in lies and half truths. His smiles did not reach his eyes and he was well practiced in the ways of deceit. He too lived in a tall tower, but he had many visitors from women as beautiful as him to sorcerers to blackguards and every matter in between._

_When the two were of age, word reached the prince of the beautiful maiden locked in a tower, far, far away. Try as they might, no man had been able to find this tower though they searched for it in hopes to rescue the fair lady. Swayed by the stories, the prince decided this elusive maiden would be his wife._

_The prince promised untold riches to whomever who would fetch the lady from her tower beyond the sea and bring her to his side. Hundreds rose to the challenge, including one plain stableboy, who had nothing to his name but a worn down mare, and the clothes on his back and a heart as big as the sea._

_The stable boy traversed the great forests, wandered the wastelands, and explored the endless fields. He not once uttered a complaint, nor wavered in his determination, for he did not want the jewels or the praise, but his heart ached at the idea of someone as lonely as he was, locked away alone and afraid._

_After weeks of relentless searching, he stumbled upon a great cliff face, stretching upwards for miles and miles. Here, he stopped for shelter as a summer storm blew in around him as if conjured from thin air, and it was here, shivering upon his mount, wet to the skin and nearly half dead with exhaustion, did a lonely maiden in her tower look down from her window in the cliff face and see him, the first man she had ever seen._

_He saw her there in the window, and moved by the same inexplicable emotion that overcame her, he called out to her. He said sweet things, but he spoke them true. They talked of the storm’s beauty, and the ways of being alone. He told her he lived in a city by the sea, a stable boy to a great house, where a kind king presided over his people and there lived a handsome prince who would rescue her from loneliness._

_The maiden told him of magic and enchantments, the stars and the man in the moon. She shared with him her the story of her birth, the truth of her mother’s power, and confessed she dreamed of life beyond the tower. There, and then, she agreed to run away with him and descending from her tower, she joined him and headed towards the city by the sea._

_\--_

A scuffling announced someone at the door. The story of the witch’s daughter and the stable boy fell away from Belle as she struggled to sit up, her wrists protesting at her stirring. She strained to listen, but the noise ceased.

It was late afternoon, and Belle’s stomach ached as the day passed. She had nothing to eat or drink since she could remember and through sheer will had managed not to soil herself. Gaston had not returned throughout the day, but it was not him. His footstep was heavier and he would not linger outside the door in case someone might see.

Slowly, a key turned in the lock, and Belle braced herself for whomever would be on the other side of the door. A guard sent by Gaston? A servant? Her father?

Unbidden, another option came to her, one with scaled flesh and taloned claws...and in her head, she could almost hear him mutter something despairingly about her plight even as his golden eyes twinkled in private jest.

It was none of these, but a short silhouette of a man illuminated from behind by the light in the hall. Far from relieved, Belle tensed at the sight of Gaston’s valet, LeFou, usually always hovering around Gaston’s side whether in the thick of battle or the festivities of the banquet hall. Belle murmured through the gag a question but LeFou barely glanced at her as he untied the knots of her left arm before disappearing down to her feet. Belle tried to pull the gag from her mouth but with her left hand still numb, she couldn’t manage it.

“Stay still before your hurt yourself,” LeFou demanded. His fingers pinched her skin where he struggled with the knot around her right ankle. Belle complied, and when he freed her right arm, she hurriedly pulled the gag from her mouth to sucke in deep breaths as her shoulders shaked in relief.

Before she could so much as speak, the tiny man had thrown a blanket over her and turned back to the door. LeFou returned back to the hallway, only to come back to thrust a plate into her hands. “Here,” he said with one last lingering glance at the bruising already appearing on her wrists.

“LeFou, wait!” Belle called out, and to her surprise, the loyal minion wavered halfway to the door. “What is the meaning of this?” she demanded as she held up her released bonds, relieved when her voice did not shake.

LeFou feinted in a bow. “ Apologies, milady,” he said with his eyes on the ground. “There was some...fear that the Dark One had returned a...a..” He struggled as he searched for the word. ”An imposter.”

Belle scoffed, but all to aware of her sheer gown, did not stand. It was rather hard to be regal in a seated position on a bed, but she tilted her chin to better look down at him. “You will send Nan at once,” she instructed him. Then, as nonchalant as she could, she added, “and fetch a chamber pot.”

Lefou nodded and twisted on his heel. He did not even look back as he hurried towards the door. It closed for a moment, and then reopened quickly, a brass chamber pot rolling in before the door swung shut. The lock turned once more, leaving Belle alone once more, though this time at liberty.

She stood shakily from the bed and when sure her legs could support her, she made her way to the chamber pot. Moments later, she moved to the window, pulling the curtain aside to let some light into the room. A blast of cold air from behind the curtains greeted her, but the sun warmed her skin quickly and the familiar rolling hills of Avonlea stirred her beyond words. Far different from her tower room, her childhood window looked out upon the lands of her childhood, covered in snow.

Belle did not bother to try the door, but broke her fast sitting at her old vanity. The mirror was dusty but her features gazed back at her, though Belle did not recognize the woman who sat opposite her. The face was too thin, the eyes too sad.

Her attempt to build a fire was fruitless, and she could not dress herself in her old gowns, so she draped herself in blankets and curled up at the window to await Nan’s arrival. Her wedding ring glinted in the afternoon light and she gazed into the depths of it as if she could see someplace far away.

\--

_On the long journey home, the two souls grew closer and with every word, they fell deeper though they stood on solid ground. They never spoke of the witch nor the prince. Neither existed for them when they were together but the witch and the prince’s shadows hung heavy over them all the same. Neither of them dared break the spell they had wandered into, and so neither of them realized it was not a chance of fate that had brought them together._

_No, it had been the witch who had spread rumours of her daughter’s beauty until they had reached the prince’s ears, it had been she who had allowed the unassuming boy to find her daughter’s tower for it was her intention to ensnare the prince with her daughter’s charms and through this marriage, seize the kingdom for her own. What did she have to fear from a mere stable boy?_

_The witch’s daughter did not care that he was just a stable boy. He was kind and he listened, and they spent days their days telling each other their secrets, discussing hopes and dreams, and sharing fears and insecurities. Though the boy told her he was nothing special, in her eyes he was noble and handsome and he cared for her in ways she had never known or dreamed someone might._

_He did not speak of her beauty, though it hurt to look at her the way his heart twisted and raced. He instead conveyed how brave she was, how kind and giving, how her words were poetry and her grace as boundless as the sky. He had seen princesses and queens, great ladies and famed artists, but they all paled to the witch’s daughter._

_When they finally came to the city by the sea, they lingered at the edge of it. Behind them was wilderness and strife, challenges and struggles but they had been together. Before them lay untold riches, safety and security for the rest of their lives, but they would never see each other again._

_The thing about love is, it comes in the most unexpected of places. As if one, they turned to head back into the wilderness, hands clasped and words of true love on their lips when the prince rode up to them, and shattered their almost happily ever after._

\--

It was nearly evening when the door opened once again to reveal Nan frozen in the doorway. Belle swallowed fiercely, tears prickling her eyes as the shock of her homecoming came crashing down around her. “My lady?” Nan croaked and took a hobbling step into the room. A shiver ran down the older woman’s spine and she spared a look at the fireplace, dead and empty. Nan closed the door quietly behind her, but did not lock it.

“Nan,” Belle said, but her voice was thick with emotion and her jaw still ached from the gag.

Her name came out garbled, but Nan understood it anyways and hurried forward to take Belle into her arms. “Oh, my sweet lady,” Nan murmured. Belle wrapped her arms around her old companion and buried her head into her shoulder. Gentle hands were upon her cheek, fingers thick with arthritis. “You’re home! Oh, you’re home!”

“Nan,” Belle sighed as she buried her face into the woman’s lap. “Oh, Nan, I’m so happy to see you.”

Her companion choked back a sob as she bent down to press a kiss upon Belle’s forehead. “I thought...I thought I would never see you again.”

“I’m here,” Belle reassured her. “Oh, Nan, it is so good to see you.”

“My little lady…” Nan said through tears choked her. “Returned home...Oh, I prayed for this...I prayed.”

Nan had buried three daughters...two brides of the Dark One. This moment was more than Belle’s return but the remembrance of all the brides homecoming as corpses, of all the women that had gone before her to pay the price for Avonlea’s safety. Belle had made her peace with their memory in the halls of the Dark Castle, but here, holding Nan upright as much as herself, a twist of guilt started to burn in her gut.

They held each other for a long moment, Nan touching her cheeks, her chin, and her shoulder reverently, as if not sure she was really there. When Nan saw the bruises on Belle’s wrists, she hissed in sympathy. “Oh, my poor lamb!” Nan cried “What has that...that beast done to you?”

Belle waved her concern away, there would be time to deal with Gaston’s actions once everything had been settled. “My father,” Belle said. “Nan, where is my father?”

In the darkness, Nan’s eyes were shiny with tears. “Oh, my lamb,” she said again as emotion choked her. “Didn’t he tell you? Lord Maurice is dead.”

- _-_

_The witch had seen their growing attachment and less she lose her kingdom, she had summoned the prince to meet his bride on the road instead of the throne room. The witch had not, however, planned on true love, the most powerful thing of all._

_The witch’s daughter refused the prince there on the road in the sunlight. She declared her love for the stable boy and vowed to not live a day without him. The prince ignored her wishes, and dropping a bag of gold at the stable boy’s feet, he kidnapped his reluctant bride and returned home to his castle for their inevitable wedding._

_The witch’s daughter did not give up hope. She waited for her love to come for her, and every time the prince asked for her hand, she refused him. She stood by the open window in the tallest tower and watched for the stable boy to come for her, for she knew he would, and the days grew into weeks and the weeks grew into months and yet her heart did not waver for an instant. The witch’s daughter did not know why her stable boy had not come yet, but she knew he would._

_\--_

The truth Nan told was more heartbreaking than any story Belle had ever heard told.

After Belle had been whisked away to certain death, Lord Maurice had withered away. Within the course of a week, he had grown gaunt and pale, skin as yellow as aged parchment paper and a tremble in his voice and hands. He called out for his daughter as he wandered the halls, then for his wife until finally he was restricted to his bed.

“He went quickly after that,” Nan whispered as she wiped away the tears on Belle’s cheeks. “He was buried a week before Juul.”

Belle tried to contain the sob but there was no room left in her. It escaped into the room, an animal sound of grief and disbelief. She had spent thirty odd days away from her home and in those days, her father had slipped away forever.

“Now, now, lamb,” Nan whispered. “You mustn’t cry.”

Belle stifled her sobs the best she could. She had lived through a lifetime of war and strife, had been torn away from her home and family, married a monster and walked a thin line between life and death, only to be returned back to the one place she had felt safe as a prisoner.

The clock on the far wall was counting down the time, and there was still much to say. Belle struggled to focus on what was important. ““There, on the table, do you see that vial?”

Nan retrieved it and in the shadows of the room, the soft glow was almost a mirage. Her eyes narrowed in uncertainty, and Belle took it from her gently. “This is the answer to our prayers,” Belle told her. The bottle was warm in her hands despite the chill of the room.

“Magic!” Nan exclaimed in horror. “From...from…”

“The Dark One,” Belle confirmed. Nan swallowed sharply at the name. “And yes, it is magic but it is could be an end to this war. You need to take it to….” Word failed her as she remembered her father was gone. She sat for a moment, trying to process the hole that had just opened in her life, but it was too raw and new. It felt like some story someone had told her, something not quite true, but which would not leave her but hung on in her mind for her to revisit later. “It’s an enlargement potion...a man can take a sip- no more than that- and grow to the size of a ogre itself.”

Nan spared another glance at the vial but she did not seemed swayed by this news. “I’ll make sure it gets to Lord Gaston,” she said finally and she put it upon the mantle, almost tucked behind a candelabra. “He’ll know what to do.”

Something cold ran down Belle’s spine. “Lord Gaston?”

“Oh,” Nan said with a weary smile. “He didn’t tell you...of course, you being so exhausted from your trials. He probably thought to spare you the news of your father’s passing...Yes...he’s been such a help since Lord Maurice, gods rest his soul, grew ill. The lords of Avonlea convened here during Juul and agreed he would serve as Lord Steward until...until you returned.”

Returned as a corpse, that was.

Belle shuddered but Nan mistook it. “Oh, lamb, don’t faint!” she cajoled, already leading Belle back to the bed. She did not seem to notice the restraints, too busy fussing as if Belle was still in the nursery and not a woman grown. “Now, now, you get some rest and I’ll bring that over to Lord Gaston at once.”

The words Lord and Gaston echoed around in her head, and Belle had to grasp the edge of the bed to steady herself, the bed she had been tied to but her once betrothed, the hope of Avonlea, the man who had inexplicably replaced her father. Nan, white hair bound and eyes crinkled in the smile of the relieved, did not seem to notice anything amiss, nor the urgency fitting the situation.

“Nan, Gaston is the one that did this to me,” she said as she held up her wrists. “He knocked me unconscious on the landing, tied me up in my bed, left me locked in here all day-”

Nan interrupted with a concerned noise. “Oh, milady, he was just...we all thought you were a ghost back to haunt us! When you fell at his feet, oh he felt terrible! How he berated himself!” Belle shook her head, but Nan continued on without stopping for breath. “He picked you up, gentle as a babe, and promised me he’d make sure no harm to you...but milady, tis true...we worried...perhaps you were not who we thought you were. The good Lord thought it prudent to be cautious.”

The unspoken question of how Belle had come to return lingered between them. In two hundred years, not one bride had came home, not alive, and here she stood, barely gone over a month and returned back to her childhood room as if she had never left.

“You don’t believe it’s me.” Nan took a step forward as if to embrace her but Belle took a step away. “He sent me home,” Belle told her and the briefest flicker of unease ghosted across Nan’s face.

“Belle,” Nan sighed and it was as if Belle was ten again, refusing to wear the corsets fitting her station. “It is a blessing you are back with us, healthy and whole. I do not need to know anything beside that.”

The entire world was tilted. Everyone she had known and trusted were gone, and in their place were flimsy shadows of the people she had known. Somewhere, there was a dark castle and a sorcerer who had once been a spinner. Perhaps Rumpelstiltskin had sent her to the wrong world, a mirror of Avonlea. Was this how Jefferson had lost his mind?

“Now, now, milady,’ Nan said with a firm nod. “Enough of all this dark talk. I’ll have a nice warm bath sent ups. Wouldn’t that be nice?”

Belle’s protest were drowned out by Nan’s chatter, as she told her about the scullery maid who had married the local farmer, how the children were making a welcome home gift for her, and how the kitchen’s newest apprentice over seasoned the porridge. Nothing about her father, the war, or where Belle had been crossed her lips, and Belle fell silent so she could better think.

When the bath was brought up, Belle did not recognize any of the servants. “Lord Gaston’s personal valets,” Nan whispered as they filled the tub. “He sent them special from the barracks so not to overwhelm you.”

The women, no strangers to a battle field, did not talk as they poured the boiling water, but she caught them watching her, and it may have been her imagination, but each looked as if they were personally affronted at her standing before them. They built up the fire and cleaned out the chamber pot, but Belle was relieved to finally send them away when the bath was finished and Nan helped her into the warm water.

“Oh,” Nan sighed happily as she began to wash her hair. Belle started slightly at the strong, sure touch of someone’s actual hands so different than the Dark Castle’s magic. “There, now, isn’t that lovely?”

“Yes,” Belle said in rote. Her eyes were on the vial on the mantelpiece. Nan’s unease at the obvious magic was palpable, and as she scrubbed the small of her back, her voice cracked ever so slightly.

Rumpelstiltskin’s hands had been just last night, there and everywhere, and a blush spread across her cheeks as she remembered she had urged him to be less cautious in his embrace, how she had sought her own pleasure in his touch and had been unashamed in her quest to feel as much as she could before the morning had returned back to a maiden’s bed. Belle wondered if there were scratches there and judging by the way Nan skirted the area, there most likely were.

The winter chill cooled off the waters and the bath ended. Belle clambered out to be wrapped in towels warmed by the fire. The curtains had been closed again, as Nan went to the closet and began to pick through the gowns. Belle lingered by the bed, untying the knots around the bed posters and shuddering as she did so. A dinner plate lay forgotten on the nearby table, Belle had no appetite at the moment. She would eat when Nan left.

“Here we are,” Nan crooned as she held up a particularly alluring forest green number. It had been part of her dowry, never before worn with it’s low neckline and clinging skirts. “Won’t this be just lovely? It’ll cover those bruises nicely.”

Belle’s mouth had fallen open and she hurried to close it. “For what?”

Nan’s eyes sparkled. “For what!” she chuckled. “Oh, milady, don’t you want to see your betrothed? Lord Gaston’s waiting for you in the royal study for a...tete a tete.” Nan giggled like a maid, pleased at this romantic notion of an intimate evening spent by the fire. Belle’s stomach rolled unpleasantly and for the first time since she was of age, she feigned a fainting spell.

“Child!” Nan cried as Belle fell across the bed. Her eyes fluttering, Belle lay motionless as Nan petted her cheeks, clucking in worry over her before Belle deigned to recover.

“Oh,” she murmured, as a hand went limply to her forehead. “Oh, where...where am I?” Nan helped her sit upright, eyes scanning her face as she clutched at Belle’s hands. “Nan?”

Nan sighed in relief, and Belle had a momentary stab of guilt at the tears in Nan’s eyes. “Oh, milady, you scared me. Are you quite all right?”

With a look of innocence, Jefferson would have been proud of, Belle managed to nod. “I’m...very tired,” she managed, casting a quick look up at Nan through her lashes before back to her lap. “The bath…”

“Don’t fret, my love,” Nan said as she stood back up from her bent position. “Let’s get you to bed.” She smiled again. “Tomorrow will be a busy day.”

There was a suggested mischief in Nan’s tone. “Tomorrow?” Belle repeated.

Nan nodded, a smile splitting her face as if she could not contain it a moment longer. “Oh, he wanted to tell you himself this evening, but what’s the harm! Lord Gaston has called all the lords back to celebrate!”

“My return?”

Nan’s eyes sparkled. “No, child, your wedding!”

\--

_It was not until a year had passed that the witch finally came to the castle. The king was growing old and ill, and in a matter of days, the prince would be crowned king and need a queen by his side._

_The witch remind her daughter of her creation, that her life was the witch’s to do with what she will. The maid denied her, and spoke of the true love who would come for her. Only then, did the witch tell her the truth...that she herself had met the stable boy at the castle gates the night they had parted, and ripped his heart from his chest and crumbled it to ashes at her feet. He had not come because he was dead. The stable boy who had loved the witch’s daughter was gone from this world and would never come again._

_With that proclamation, the witch’s daughter’s heart ceased to beat. As if falling asleep, her eyes closed and she sank to her knees, and true to her word, she died rather than live without her true love. No beauty, no riches, no wonder could sway her from life without him, and she took the step into the next world as easily as she had taken the step to leave her tower._

_It is said they met again in the twilight between the world of the living and the dead, that he had waited for her there all this time, and when he saw her there in the mist, he had simply reached out a hand and they disappeared into the ether together far from the witch’s magic and the prince’s reach. They could not live together, so they would spend eternity as one._

_\--_

Nothing would sway Nan. “You don’t know what you want,” Nan blustered as Belle finished telling her she would rather die than marry a brute such as Gaston.

“I am already a woman wed!” Belle exclaimed as she brandished her ring under Nan’s nose. “My husband still lives-”

“Your husband!” Nan spat. “Lord Gaston was right. That creature has- has swayed you!” Nan’s voice was uneven and her chins wobbled in emotion. Her mind was closed. There was nothing Belle could do to sway her from her hatred of the Dark One, how could she be expected to? The entirety of Avonlea had suffered at his hands for years, lost loved ones to his clutches, and sons and daughters to his whims.

“I know what he is. He is everything you always said he was, but there’s...there’s more to him than that, there’s more to the story then we ever knew.”

Nan shook her head and began to retreat towards the door. “You don’t know what you’re talking about,” Nan scolded her. “You’ve been a prisoner, and whatever he has done to convince you otherwise, was a ploy.”

“Nan!”

The older woman’s eyes flashed and there was real hatred there, so fierce that Belle fell silent in the face of it. “He’s manipulated you, fooled you into thinking of him as some kind of savior, but it’s just another of his tricks! You’ll marry Lord Gaston as is your duty as lady of this castle.”

“I won’t,” Belle declared with an emphatic shake of her head. “I won’t because he vile and cruel and he may have fooled everyone in this land as to what he truly is but he doesn’t fool me. He never did! I didn’t want to marry him in the first place!”

Lord Maurice had brokered the betrothal to seal Gaston’s continued alliance with Avonlea lest the great knight leave for richer lands where ogres were not constant threats. As future lord of Avonlea, Gaston would have a reason to fight, or that what had been what they all thought. Now, Belle wasn’t so certain. Gaston seemed to enjoy death and destruction, the adrenaline rush of battle. He had fooled everyone in Avonlea to his true nature. They thought him a handsome, noble hero and in truth, he was as vile and cruel as the monsters in stories.

Nan scoffed. “Want had nothing to do with it nor does love. Love is weakness.”

“Weakness?” Belle repeated as she went numb. “But the stories you told me...happy ever afters, the power of true love...” Those stories had been the only thing to save her in the Dark Castle, the only reason she had learned her husband’s true name, had grown brave enough to climb into his bed and truly become his wife.

“Love is an illusion. It faded away and leaves you with nothing,” Nan said and her voice echoed hollowly as if coming from a great distance. Belle stared in horror, unable to look away as the cracks of Nan’s grief opened before her and threatened to swallow her whole. “I loved my husband, and he left my bed despite his vows of dedication. I loved my children and they died one by one out of my reach and I loved my only grandchild but he died screaming on a battlefield leagues away.”

Nan had been backing away from her towards the fire and Belle realized what was happening too late. Nan seized the small vial of elixir from where it had been hidden and she lifted it high over her head. “You’ve been blinded by fairytales. You started to believe you were in a story, and that’s my fault, child. I let you live in them lest you see the hell around you, but no more.’

Belle cried out and sprang forward but it was too late. Nan threw the vial into the fire and it shattered amongst the flames, the flames erupting and purple smoke billowing out towards them before the fire died out completely.

Belle sat upon her heels as she gazed at the shattered remnants. “Nan, what...what have you done?”

She didn’t so much as flinch as Nan’s hands found her shoulder, and squeezed hard enough to bruise as they both stared into the fire. “I’ve saved you, child. I did what any mother would do for their daughter.” She stroked Belle’s hair though Belle barely felt it. ”You are going to marry Gaston, and bear his children, and we are going to be a family again.”

Belle’s hopes burned down to embers and like the vial, her heart lay shattered in the ashes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy shit guys, 17 pages means this might be the longest chapter of Story Teller to date. I've been working on this for a week or more now, and whew, it changed quite a bit in the process but it's finally done. Excited to get everyone's perspective on it. Every single time someone comments, I go and work on the story - even if its editing or just a sentence, so thank you all for your continued dedication to this dark fairy tale. I always wanted Belle to return home to Avonlea as a pariah, (to have her return be treated like Regina told Rumple in Skin Deep), that they thought her tainted, and were cruel to her. It took me twenty odd chapters but I did it! (SORRY)
> 
> The story this week was Regina and Daniel's but I used some elements of Rapunzel, the Princess Bride, Shrek, Romeo and Juliet, etc. etc. It was honestly the trickiest of the entire chapter, mostly because it is such a powerful origin story for a character long gone in this world- a woman who is now remembered best as an evil queen instead of the fair witch's daughter who loved a stable boy. 
> 
> Next episode is the story of Bae's quest to save his father, and Belle continuing to deal with her homecoming.


	25. Chapter 25

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> With twelve comments last chapter, I got a good start on this pretty fast, however, this chapter's quick posting is really in part due to ForeverLadyAnne who read through this story this past week and left a thoughtful review on each and everyone of them, and it was very hard not to think about this story when someone is doing such a wonderful thing. So thank you all for that and never forget that comments can do wonderful, wonderful thing for your favorite stories and authors, so if that's my PSA today, and now on to the story.

The days crept by, as they are wont to do, but there was no normalcy, no comfort to be found that these days passed Belle by in the heart of Avonlea. The world she had once known, the one mired in the misery and grind of war, was altered, forever different from the one she had left. 

Though Belle wondered when she was alone in her rooms staring up at the moon from her window, if she had been the one changed. Perhaps she no longer fit into this world, but if that was the case, where did she belong? She now had many names. Belle, daughter of Maurice, Lady of Avonlea, wife of the Dark One, Guardian of the Realm, Brainless, Madam Monster, and now- 

“Witch!”

A splatter of something red splattered at her feet, and Belle stumbled to a halt in the courtyard. Blood stained the hem of her gown, the fur hemline of her cloak dying red as it stood in the puddle forming around her in a perfect ring thanks to the ancient, tilted cobblestones. 

Footsteps pounding away, the rattle of armor adding to the din, signified a guard had given chase, but Belle did not look up to see who had dared besmirch a noble woman, the lady of the castle and purported fiance of Lord Gaston. In all probability, it was one of the various women of the hold who had hoped to win his heart for herself, who had dared to dream when the only noble woman of birth had disappeared into the monster’s den, only to return to shatter their fantasies.

No one seemed to care she was already married, no one less than Gaston. 

Her remaining guard cleared his throat, “Are you hurt, milady?”

Belle forced herself to smile. “Quite fine, Jasper,” she assured him and though slow, he returned the smile before hastily averting his eyes. His shoulders hunched as she gazed upon him, and his hand went to the sword hilt upon his hip. Even the ones meant to guard her were afraid. Gaston needed her alive to solidify his hold upon Avonlea, and though he celebrated her return, there were still whispers in the street. 

Or screams now, Belle considered as she stepped over the pool of blood. Jasper did not offer his hand, but when her foot slipped on a crooked cobblestone, he grabbed her without thinking. When realization set in, his eyes went wide as saucers and his hand began to tremble upon her arm.

“Thank you, Jasper,” Belle said with a dignified smile, and gently removed her arm from his grip. She wanted to ask him if he remembered the day she had disappeared. She doubted he could have not overheard her pleas even from outside the study door, nor the way she had cried out for her father’s help. But now, he, like everyone else, seemed to think her tainted, and could not even look her in the eye. He trailed after her as they headed toward their original destination, the great archway of Avonlea, the only entrance out of the castle’s hold. 

LeFou was already there when they arrived, and he harrumphed at her approach. “Late!” he said to himself, though loudly enough for the entire courtyard to hear. Gaston’s man to the end, LeFou had quickly lost any fear of Belle, which meant there were a total of three people in the entirety of Avonlea who did not cower before her.

Belle ignored him, choosing instead to stand as close to him as manners allowed. At least two heads taller than him, he had to look up to speak to her. “Someone displease you?” LeFou asked, with a pointed look at her bloody boots and skirts. When she failed to respond, he chuckled. “Turn them into a snail and crush them between your boot?”

“I failed to watch where I was walking outside the butcher’s,” Belle lied, grateful Jasper was standing behind them both. For a guard, he had a far too expressive face and Belle had no interest in LeFou knowing the truth of those stains. It would only serve to give Gaston reason to lock her away, for her safety. “Any sight of Lord Behonick?”

“No,” LeFou grumbled as he clutched his cloak tighter around his squat body. Belle’s shoulders relaxed a fraction of an inch at this news. Lord Behonick, her father’s dearest friend and the closest thing Belle had to an uncle, was the last of the lords to arrive for the wedding festivities.

He was also her last chance at an ally. 

The lords had trickled back to Avonlea from their manors, slow at first, as none truly believed Lady Belle had survived, but when word had reached the others, they had all come to see for themselves. None had brought their families with them, no wives, sons or daughters traveled the distance, because of the weather, or fatigue or sickness, but in truth, no one dared bring their loved ones near anyone the Dark One had touched.

Belle had been trotted out to greet each one at the gates, but that was where it ended. Gaston claimed she was too exhausted from her trials, but he didn’t dare give her the opportunity to talk to any of the Lords alone. Not that it mattered, no one would believe her anyway, Nan had showed her that. 

“There,” a guard said, and LeFou stood up on his tiptoes to better see down the road. A great cloud of dust was in the distance, though it was still a mile or two away. Belle’s heart quickened, her resolution to speak to Lord Behonick numbing her to the cold bite of the wind as it snapped at her nose and cheeks. 

Her excitement was short lived. 

“There you are, my love.” Belle spun like a child caught stealing a treat as Gaston hopped down from his steed, handsome as ever as he grinned at her with a knowing smile. Belle’s fingers twitched as she had to resist some rather unladylike urges. 

“Lord Behonick’s arriving shortly, milord” LeFou said with a vicious little smile up at Belle. So, they had guessed her intentions, or had at least suspected them. Belle glowered down at LeFou’s smug face, and was awarded a small taste of satisfaction when he hastily looked away. 

“It is cold, my darling,” Gaston said. “Perhaps you should return to the castle to warm yourself by the fire.” His eyes warned her this was not a suggestion but an order, but Belle did not waver. Despite everything, she refused to give him the satisfaction of seeing her weaken. Gaston was not a clever man, he had no noble training, no experience in the word of verbal battle or political warfare.

“Lord Behonick is my dear friend,” Belle murmured as demurely as she dared, every inch a proper lady. “I have met him at the gate often in my youth.”

“Your heart is too kind,” Gaston answered back easily. “However, there is plenty to attend to before the ceremony tomorrow.”

“Ceremony?” Belle said, losing her footing. “Tomorrow?”

Gaston’s smile spread across his face like blood seeping into the ground. “The guards told me of the...incident in the courtyard, and I fear for your safety, my love. I think it best, now that Lord Behonick is here, we move up the wedding. No one will dare harm the Lady Gaston.”

Seeing as the incident in question had just happened, there would have been no way for the guard to give chase to the accoster and run off to alert Gaston. Which meant it had been planned. The ploy may be obvious but it was clever.

Belle did not dare let that knowledge show on her face. She was not scared of Gaston, but the castle believed him to be their only chance at salvation. They feared her, whispers of dark magic and soiled goods so abundant, they were no longer considered rumors but the awful truth.

Belle surveyed him with a jaundiced eye. She had not given him enough credit. Untrained in the ways of politics, his brute force technique was working for him. He had single handedly turned the entire lands against her with nothing but stories. Fitting, seeing as how Belle had too harnessed their power to stay alive.

Belle still had one trick up her sleeve. “My lord.” She let her eyes fall to the ground. “I thought it was agreed that we should wait until the mourning period had passed. As you know, I did not get to say goodbye to my father, and his loss still stings.”

She did not bother to remind him she was already wed. That argument had been squashed before the end of her second day home. As there was no evidence of their wedding, her unholy union was just another strike against her, a reminder that she was not innocent. In the eyes of even the people who had watched her grow, Gaston was even more noble for agreeing to marry such a soiled woman. 

“Lord Maurice’s loss pains us all,” Gaston nodded in sympathy. “However, he would want us to be happy.” He took a step closer to her, leather glove ghosting against her cheek in a pantomime of a caress. The true threat of a blow evident in the curl of his knuckles against her lips. “I will speak to the gathered lords, but I believe the entire realm’s grief will be alleviated by this joyous tidings.”

There would be no use arguing so Belle nodded. With a perfunctory curtsey, she trailed away back to the castle. Jasper’s armor clanked and clanged behind her, louder in the silence that heralded her process through the snow covered courtyard. Avonlea, though dwindling in size every year, was no small hold, but people stayed so still and silent as she passed by, they might as well be ghosts. 

When she was safely ensconced back in her chambers, Belle stripped off her cloak, boots and skirts and flung them into a ball against the door. Jasper had gone off to announce her return to Nan, the only servant in the castle who would even tolerate being alone in her presence. Belle’s gaze drifted to the fireplace, and the sour taste reappeared in her mouth that accompanied any memory of her first day home.

“I was the last,” Belle reminded herself as pity threatened to overtake her. Her people did not need to love her, or thank her. She had saved the women of her lands, though as always, this thought was met with the knowledge that she had not been able to save the men. The potion had been wasted, and her deal with her husband had been struck moot.

Still, she told him stories. Some days she would whisper them under her breath at meal time, though when people had started to say she was muttering spells, she had desisted. Other times, she would lay in bed, her hands exploring the curves of her body as she moaned stories into the night air. Most days, she sat at her window, and spoke stories into the winter wind, trusting that it would deliver her words as she had promised. 

Her hand was bare now, but her fingers found the locket tucked in her corset without thought. It was warm from her body heat despite the bitter chill, the rather ornate decoration holding her husband's wedding ring, safely hidden from prying eyes. She had learned well what happened to anything her husband had touched. 

“What story shall it be today?” Belle asked the quiet. “The story of the diamond in the rough? Or perhaps the Spirit of the Forest?”

It did not matter. In the end, they were all stories.

\--

“Now, child, stop your moping,” Nan huffed at her as she finished pinning Belle’s curls to her crown. She had refused to listen to Belle’s protests about leaving her curls down, citing that a maiden did not wear her hair unadorned. Nan would be blind to the truth to the bitter end so it seemed. 

The feast for the lords was already well underway downstairs, but Belle was expected to make an appearance. Nan had spent over an hour on her hair before rouging her cheeks and lips with cranberry and nettle berries. The gown chosen was as blue as Belle’s eyes, lined with fur and higher cut than tradition style dictated. It was no maiden’s gown, but neither did it fit a married woman. Belle traced the edges of the neckline and wondered if this is what widows would wear...though there had not been a noble woman widowed before the age of forty in many years. 

Nan declared her as pretty as a picture, refusing to meet Belle’s eyes as she tucked a sprig of juniper in her hair. Belle wanted to reach out to capture the crone’s hand in her own, to press it to her cheek and cry until Nan could not ignore her pain any longer, but she smiled instead. “Thank you, that will be all.”

Nan lingered for a moment, but she too finally nodded, and departed. Belle knew Nan had only been trying to help, that her grief and ignorance had pushed her to act the way she had, but Belle also could not forget that the men were due to leave back to the fields of battle as soon as the frost melted, and many of the already few would not return. 

When Belle arrived in the dining hall, the lords were finished with dinner and already deep in their cups. The merry air died away as she entered into the hall, and the chill of power she wielded tingled down her spine. She met each of their eyes evenly as she approached her place beside Gaston at the table. She held her head high, and with every glance, she reminded them that they had traded her life for their own skin 

Now, she was home, and they were only too happy to hand her off to Gaston. He stood as she approached, holding out his hand to her. It made a pretty picture, Belle had to admit, her in her somber gown with juniper in her hair and he so tall and handsome in his evening dress. She could not ignore his hand, so when she arrived at the dais, she took it only for his hand to squeeze around her’s tight enough to break her fingers.

She did not even flinch. “Milord,” she greeted, though she would rather spit it at him. Up close, his eyes were glazed with drink, his skin slightly damp from the crowded hall. 

“My lords,” Gaston said as she took her seat beside him. “Thank your making the journey back to witness our union. Your support in these sorrowful times has not gone unnoticed.”

“Our support,” Lord Behonick said as he stood from his seat in the back of the hall, “ has and continues to be subject to the claim Lady Belle has upon her father’s realm.” He did not look at her as he spoke, but Belle’s fists curled in her lap as hope dared show its head in her heart. 

“As was agreed when the you rode home from the Juul’s festivities,” Gaston said with a nod.

“We thought the lady dead,” said another lord, a dour looking fellow who Belle did not recall but had the look of the Hunts to the north. 

“As you can see, I am not,” Belle said before Gaston could reply.

“Yes,” Lord Behonick agreed and here, he met her eye. “How is it such a miracle came to be?”

Gaston stood, as if to answer, but Belle did not give him the chance. “My husband sent me home,” she said and a wave of fear washed over the gathered nobility. “You remember my husband, Lord Behonick?” She looked to a nearby table. “Lord Downtown?” 

When no one responded, Belle tilted her head. “Why, surely, you all remember. You were there when he took my hand, and before you all, struck the deal with my father for the continued protection of Avonlea even as our sons died one by one on the battlefields across the border?”

Gaston’s hand clutched her forearm and hauled her bodily from the seat. “Apologies, good sirs,” Gaston said even as he manhandled her away from the table. “She is not herself, as you can see, her hardships have been most grievous.”

“Unhand me!” Belle hissed and through some luck, managed to land a strike across his face. 

His hand only tightened until she had to bite her tongue to avoid crying out in pain. “You forget yourself, my love,” he said though his tone threatened later retribution. “Perhaps this was too much for you so soon upon your return. Guards, return Lady Belle back to her room, she is mad from grief.”

“I’m not the one who forgets themselves. You act as though you are already a lord.”

“She speaks true,” Lord Downtown said. “The agreement was for you to guard over Avonlea as lord steward until proof of the lady’s death.”

“Though it is also true that the good knight was betrothed to the lady prior to the...arrangement,” Lord Behonick said. “Hence our approval to leave Avonlea in his hands for the remainder of the year after Maurice’s sudden passing.”

“The marriage is tomorrow morning,” the Lord Hunt said with a shrug. “She stands there flesh and blood. It looks as if you are losing your chance at a throne, Downtown, at least for another few years.”

The guards had arrived at the dias, and though they dared not touch her, their hands were upon their swords. Belle surveyed the gathered lords with one last withering look before she turned back to Gaston. “I will never marry you,” she vowed and then without another word, she swept from the dining hall and the men who only saw her as a rung on the ladder to the throne instead of a human being.

\--

Gaston posted guards outside of her door, but Belle had no intention of trying to sneak by them. There was nowhere to go. Everyone in the realm knew her face, and now they knew her story. She would not be safe here, nor in any other lands if she even made it that far. 

Belle opened her window to gaze down at the ground below. It would be an easy enough thing, to tilt forward until she plummeted downwards, and then there would be stopping death. She had courted it for long enough, surely it was ready for her to come to its embrace?

The door swung open, and expecting Nan arriving to undress her, Belle turned from her escape to find Gaston closing the door behind him. “Get out,” she demanded.

He ignored her as he pocketed the key. “Now, now, is that any way to speak to your husband?” 

“You are not my husband.” Her husband was a sorcerer that had once been a spinner, he lived in a great castle and his magic was dark and terrible. He was mercurial and dangerous, a creature who doubted himself and pushed her away. Her husband had sent her home lest he kill her, had put a ring on her finger to acknowledge their understanding and had asked her for stories to fill the empty hours of his life. 

“I will be tomorrow,” Gaston told her. “Though I think since you are no longer an innocent, there’s no reason why we shouldn’t be together tonight.” His eyes went to the open window behind her and he chuckled. “Oh, was this your plan? Do you know why I was made commander before I was five and twenty?”

“No, nor do I care. Get out before I scream.”

“Oh, I’m so hoping you’ll scream,” Gaston said with a chuckle. “No, they made me commander because I had a knack of sniffing out the cowards. When they made me leader of my first handful of men, I spotted the ones who would take the easy way out. There was not one suicide under my leadership, not one escapee or cripple. My men died on the battlefield, even if they were bound and gagged and sent in on a horse as easy pickings.”

Belle turned and ran for the window but he was too fast. His arms wrapped around her torso and he hurled her behind him to the floor where she struck the ground so hard, she skidded a few feet. The window slammed shut, and the bar fell shut behind it. 

“No!” Belle cried out but before she could make it to her knees, Gaston had her by the throat.

“You are mine. I thought I lost you to that monster, but the Gods favor me. They returned you to me as my right.”

“He sent me back,” Belle managed to say as she fought to get to her feet. “It had nothing to do with you.”

“No?” Gaston said with a sickening smile. “Didn’t he tell you about our little deal?”

The fight went out of her. “What deal?”

Gaston chuckled as he released her. “What’s that story that old crone so likes to tell? The one about the Dealer King?” He strolled over to the fire, barely more than embers now as no one had stroked it. He nudged the ashes with his boots. “The original deal was struck after the Dealer King said three words.You like stories, Belle. Didn’t you ever wonder what those words were?” He grinned and in the light of the dying fire, his face was inhuman. “Can you guess? I’ll give you a hint. It’s the same word.”

It dawned on her like a memory of a forgotten dream. Name have power. Hadn’t he traded her his name for her maidenhead?

“Rumpelstiltskin,” Gaston answered for her. “Written in blood at the edge of the Northern Kingdom, a warning or so my men thought but I guessed the truth. It was the only weaknesses of the Dark One, the one thing that could control him.”

“Rumpelstiltskin,” Gaston repeated. “A funny word, but when you say it thrice- Rumpelstiltskin!”

“No need to shout.”

The locked window was open again, and there on the ledge, her husband sat as if he had been there the whole time. He was examining his talons, seemingly unaware of Belle’s plight. 

“Ah, there you are, monster,” Gaston laughed. “Your wife was missing you.’

Rumpelstiltskin's eyes darted to Belle but he did not move a muscle in recognition. It had been a month since he had sent her home, and her traitor heart thudded in her chest as if awakening. Her head, however, held her firm. 

“You broke our deal,” Gaston said as he helped himself to some leftover wine. 

Rumpelstiltskin let out a small chuckle, more of an exhale than a laugh. “I broke one deal in my life, and it wasn’t this one.”

“Deal?” Belle said, but it wasn’t necessary. She already knew.

“Yes, my firstborn or some nonsense,” Gaston said with a wave of his hand. “As if I’d miss one child. All in exchange for your death.”

Rumplestiltskin snorted. “You didn’t say to kill her. We agreed that something tragic should happen. Abduction is tragic.”

Gaston curled his upper lip into a snarl. “You know what I meant. The intent was perfectly clear.”

Leaping up from his seat, the Dark One prowled closer. “Let’s not talk about intent,” he said, venom dripping from his every word. “Intent is meaningless. You have the lordship.”

“I suppose it worked out,” Gaston admitted. “After you prematurely swept her away, my claim on the lordship was tentative at best. Your return was the Gods way of confirming my plan was meant to be.”

“You planned this?” Belle asked Gaston as she tried to comprehend the reality in which she found herself.

“Surprised?” Gaston said with a laugh. “I thought you might be, hence why I decided to let you in on the secret. I wanted to see that smug look on your face wiped clear to know the monster you thought would save you is actually my creature.”

“What is that?”

Everyone stilled as Rumplestiltskin pointed at Belle’s arm. Red was spreading from her elbow down her forearm, and with this sight, a stinging sensation raced up her arm. “Oh,” Belle said as she ginergly touched the red spot on her dress. “It must have happened when I fell…”

“Oh,” Rumple said as if this was answered everything. Then, with a snap of his fingers, Gaston disappeared from view and a single red rose dropped from the air where the knight had been standing. 

“Let me see it,” he said as Belle stared uncomprehendingly at the flower upon the floor. He led her to the vanity where she lowered down into her chair and he knelt before her. “Hold still.”

The unexpected power of his magic slammed into the room and Belle grabbed his hand in her own. “Stop!” she exclaimed and the magic died away as he stared up at her in confusion.

“It’ll just take a second,” he said but Belle shook her head. 

“What did he mean?” Belle demanded as she pointed a shaking hand at the rose. “What deal?”

Rumpelstiltskin shrugged. “Does it matter?”

“Yes, it matters,” Belle said, though her voice broke slightly as she had to tamper down her mounting hysteria. “What deal did you make with that-that bastard?”

“Language!”

“Rumpelstiltskin, you tell me this instant or I swear-”

He stood swiftly and crossed to the wine cup still spinning on the hearth. He scooped it up and with a flick of his finger, it was full again. He brought it to her, wrapping her numb hands around it. “You aren’t wearing your ring,” he noted. Belle lifted the locket free from her corset, and opened it with shaking fingers to show him the contents. She did not trust herself to speak quite yet. 

“By your heart,” he murmured. “How unexpected.”

“Rumpelstiltskin.”

He gazed back at her. “Say it one more time,” he asked of her. It was a pleading warning but Belle did not heed it.

“Rumpelstiltskin.”

“This worm called me forth in hopes of becoming king,” Rumplestiltskin answered as if he had been planning to tell her all along. “The royal princess comes of age this upcoming spring and the King has heard tales of the brave knight Gaston. He has invited him to join his army in case the ogres march to the south, but Gaston here had no interest in dying upon the field as a hero.”

A knight, especially a heroic commander, could marry a lady of a desperate house but could not dream of winning a princess’s hand. A lord...a lord could.

“If tragedy befell the house of Avonlea, he stood in line to get his heart’s desire,” Rumpelstiltskin finished, trusting her to put the pieces together. “He had planned on marrying you first to cement his position.” Rumple’s face twisted into a grin. “Don’t think he planned on my acting before the nuptials. Devil’s in the details. ”

“My father?” Belle croaked. “Did you-?”

Rumplestiltskin shook his head. “Poison acts quickly,” he said in a low voice. “And it is easy to sneak into goblets of a grieving father.” He touched her face and Belle leaned into it. “I thought nothing of agreeing to his deal until you offered me a story.”

Belle offered a watery smile before her gaze fell back to the rose. “Is he dead?”

Rumpelstiltskin nodded. “He will never bother you again, not even in your nightmares,” he assured her. “I did not think he would dare touch what is mine,” he said in lieu of an apology. “I thought to send you home to rule what is rightfully yours.”

“I don’t belong here,” Belle told him as she joined him. She stepped onto the rose and ground it into the floor beneath her feet. 

He plucked the juniper twig out of her hair and inhaled it. “Juniper signifies a return home from a long journey full of twists and turns.” 

“Rumple,” Belle said quietly. 

“What do you want, Belle?” he replied in return. “What is it you would ask of me?”

Belle wavered, unsure if she could say it aloud. “I don’t know,” she admitted, “but I think I want to find out with you.”

He did not move. “The potion?”

Belle’s eyes closed. “Destroyed,” she admitted in a small voice. 

“No matter. I can make more.”

“Really?” she said, and hope flooded her. “I would do anything, name your price-”

He pressed his mouth to her’s, and swallowed her offer. He tasted of the bitter wine and smoke, and something inherently Rumplestiltskin and the tang of magic. Belle pressed herself against him, hand scrabbling to push away his jacket even as his hands ripped the fabric from her throat so he could bury his face into the curve of her shoulder to inhale her. 

“Madam Monster,” her husband breathed into her ear. 

“Belle,” she moaned as his hand closed upon her breast.

“Wife of the Dark One,” he hissed as her hand found him through his leathers.

“Yours,” Belle agreed as he pushed her skirts to her hips. They came together upon the floor, petals crushed underneath them as they fumbled for release against each other. His claws ripped her bodice, and her teeth drew blood from his lip and the thorns from the rose scratched over their flesh but they paid it no mind. 

When they finished, both were sore and bloody but neither cared. Rumplestiltskin held her to his chest and traced runes across her back. “If there’s one thing I know about its names,” he told her. “Do you know what Belle means?”

“Beauty,” she admitted. “My parents had great hopes for me.”

“It means the greatest of them all,” he whispered down to her. “Remember that in the days to come.”

Belle twisted in his arms. “You’re leaving?”

“You aren’t safe with me,” he reminded her. He plucked a petal from her hair. “In fact, I may have already tainted you...darkness is catching.”

Belle scoffed. “Because I did not cry over you striking down the villain who would killed my father and would have murdered me, hardly means I am evil.”

His eyes twinkled. “You are a conundrum,” he replied in wonder. “But I cannot stay with you.”

“Why?”

He did not reply but stood and began to dress. “The deal I broke was with my son,” he said with his back safely turned to her. The Spinner’s story rang in her ears as if a far off echo. “He too feared the darkness in me.”

Belle did not deny the truth of that. She no longer feared her husband, she had come to understand him, as much as she could, but his magic was a different matter. “What happened?”

He looked over his shoulder down where she lay. “I was still half a man then. I loved him and I wanted him to be happy so I agreed, if he could find a way to destroy the darkness without killing me or hurting himself, I would do whatever it took.”

“And?”

“He sought the help of the fairies, who poisoned him against me. Have you heard of Reul Ghorm?”

She shook her head.

“The Blue Star?” 

Belle thought. “I know stories about the Blue Fairy,” she said finally. It was a trench rumor, passed along back from the cripples who returned from the battlefield, an ancient being that ruled the night, bigger and more powerful than even the Dark One, or so they said.

He nodded. “The same. She took my son away from me and with it, the last bit of humanity I had left in me. Until you.” Belle got to her feet but he moved away from her outstretched hands. “There is darkness in you already. Barely a month with me, and I would have slaughtered the entire castle if you had asked it of me.”

“No,” Belle said with a forcible shake of her head. “I don’t want that.”

“What do you want?” he repeated as his gaze burned straight through her. “Are you so unaware of your power, Belle? The sway you have over me? Did I not tell you what would happen if you set a foot outside the castle walls?”

Belle remembered all too well. “I would die.”

“And yet here you stand.”

Belle’s lips parted but no words came forth. “You sent me away...I didn’t step over the boundaries.” 

He did not look away. “I have only ever broken one deal. I was too afraid to become powerless, weak, back to being a coward like everyone else. Honesty has never been the best color on me, but there’s no other way.”

“Rumple-”

“I killed him.”

The air disappeared from the room as the magic returned. It pressed into her from every angle, curling over her fingers and through her hair, tracing its way down her back and into her lungs. 

“Have you ever seen a drunkard forced sober? I was delirious, nervous, barely able to stay upright as my son begged me to restrain from magic. He wanted us to be together, to cure me of this disease and he trusted the faeries who told him such a thing was possible.”

Belle couldn’t breath. 

“I chose power over my only son, over the only light in my life and to keep that power I killed him.” His eyes bore holes through her. “I have had all the time in the world to remember what his blood felt like on my hands and I will never forget it as long as I walk this earth.”

“But-but you loved him.”

“I did and I swore I would love nothing else, that I would care for nothing ever again. And then you came.” His eyes were wild and the magic was curling about so dense, it filled the room like storm clouds in the sky. Flashes of lightning raced through it, exploding and disappearing around her and her tongue tingled with the power. His gaze did not leave her as he stepped forward and with their faces inches apart, he spoke. “If it could twist me to do that to my son, imagine what it’ll do to you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, some forward momentum. This chapter we learned a lot (like why Rum chose Belle in the first place, what Gaston had planned, and how Bae passed away so many years ago) but there's still the whole darkness thing which is a major hindrance to any possible happy ever after. 
> 
> Rum is trying left and right to protect her, knowing full well what his magic will do to avoid love at all costs but we know Belle is stubborn so this is going to be a tricky next few chapters.
> 
> How many more chapters, you ask? I dunno honestly. I don't know anything until i sit down to write it. (No really, ask Prissygirl, I 100% have no idea what I'm going to write until I write it for this story which is nerve wracking on multiple levels.) There are three episodes left in season 1 and next story will be Pinocchio's from the Stranger. I'm thinking at this point we have 3-5 chapters left, but that's inSANE. So, instead, I'm going to just ask you guys how you feel about all these developments.


End file.
